Between a Stone and a Hard Sword
by MediEvil Ways
Summary: Sequel to Unhenged. The Vikings are beaten, but what has happened to Camelot in the meantime? And will Arthur really need a sword to rule England? And what of all the secrets still between Merlin and Arthur? NOW COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Between a stone and a hard sword**

Sequel to _Unhenged_

A/N after the story at the bottom of the page.

Disclaimers: No infringements intended. _The Adventures of Merlin _belongs to the BBC

CHAPTER 1

**The siege**

It rained for seven days and six nights. The drops that fell were big, dark and hard, each of them reflecting the atrocities of war, beating the grass to a muddy pulp and making the stones so slippery that even the tiny forest mice scooted down when they tried to cross the paths. They needn't hurry. In this weather, the predators stayed under cover. Except for one particular predator that never was very clever. Man!

A wise woman once said that rain was the result of angels crying. A wise man once said that not even raindrops of heaven could wash a killing field clean.

There was a young sorcerer riding an outlandish horse, who would definitely agree with both statements. He had seen killing fields soaked in blood, murderous attacks adding to the colour, seen swallows rise to heaven to avoid mayhem and despondency, and he had witnessed the same fields being drenched in sea water to no avail. The blood and pain would just never wash off. So much death. So much agony. So much suffering.

Had the boy been allowed to contribute with his special skills from the start, it might not have been necessary for so many people to die.

The young man trembled. He was a fine one to talk! He was the direct cause of several deaths himself when he broke free the Great Dragon.

"**Merlin**!"

His master's voice. Merlin heeled his Viking steed that quickly caught up with Prince Arthur's taller horse. Behind him, a tall Viking woman followed closely suit.

"Yes, Sire?" he asked, pale and wet.

"You look terrible," was the prince's first remark.

"Thank you," came the sarcastic reply.

"I mean it … are you sure you're not catching … hey, who's that?" Arthur squinted to the back where the shield maiden was still running, water dripping off of her like a constant creek.

"Oh. That's Thyra."

"The Viking woman you made speak English? What's she doing?"

"Stalking me, it would seem."

"Why is that?"

"Beats me."

Arthur Pendragon turned to face the wolf-looking woman.

"Why are you running behind Merlin?" he yelled as if the volume of voice would make her understand better.

"I am not deaf, oh royal prat."

"_**What**_?"

Merlin keeled over in much needed mirth. Thyra looked at them both with something that resembled puzzlement, if a wolf can look puzzled.

"That is what your sorcerer keeps calling you."

Arthur whipped back his head to pin his manservant with his eyes. "_**Mer**_lin!"

"Oh, that was priceless," the warlock chuckled, scant of breath, "but seriously, Thyra, why are you running behind me all the time?"

Not even out of breath and still running, Thyra answered calmly: "Because you appear to be the powerful one, oh most dreaded warlock."

Merlin nodded with a grin as if that made perfect sense. Arthur turned to her, annoyed.

"Well … shoo! I have to talk to Merlin – in confidence."

Thyra removed herself obediently and for a second Merlin was almost sad to see her leave. This meant that he would probably have to answer some magic-related questions.

x

The landscape was changing only slowly. It had taken them a few days to move south to the violent rendezvous with the enemy; now, burdened with prisoners of war, exhausted horses and wounded soldiers – and some commoners that were the sole survivors of the tsunami caused by Jormungand, the Great Sea Serpent of the oceans – they made very little progress. Already seven days had gone by.

The knights were tired, but restless; like their prince, they feared that they might have left their home unprotected and vulnerable.

As they approached the moor, Sir Percival, an ugly wound running down his face and arm in a sling, rode back to his prince to report.

"We're only a couple of hours from Keogh's farm, Sire," he said and then noticed Merlin. "Hullo, Merlin – where's your pet?" the knight broke into a broad grin and then winced as the grin hurt his marred face.

"Arthur sent her away. But don't tease her about it; she'll have your bowels for garters."

Percival laughed out loud, winced again, this time even harder and returned to his post.

A couple of hours away from Keogh, Arthur mused; the trip had taken three times as long as when they embarked on the journey. He turned to look at his servant.

"We have unfinished business," he said seriously, holding up an arm to signal the caravan to stop trotting and start walking. Merlin nodded, if at all possible going paler.

"What do you want to know?"  
>"Well, for starters. Did you ever pull any magic on me?"<br>Uh-uuuh.  
>"Erm – only to save your life, Sire."<br>"You're calling me _Sire_!" Arthur said accusingly, pointing a finger at him "I don't like that. When you're calling me _Sire_, it usually means that your conscience stinks!"

Merlin found himself to be a little aghast. The prince was quite right! He did have a tendency of calling His Royal Pratness _Sire_ when he was trying to hide something or when he was stung. The warlock had to do something to divert this sudden burst of royal insight, so he reached out and touched the base of Arthur's skull, quickly mumbling that this was something Arthur needed to see.

Arthur jerked back his blonde head instantly, his eyes went momentarily blank and like before, various expressions rushed over his handsome face in rapid succession. Wisely, Merlin had chosen an event in which his magic had saved the day: When the Lady Catrina made her entrance. Few seconds later, he gently removed his fingers and Arthur's consciousness was once again present. He looked at Merlin, rubbing his nape.

"Next time, bloody well warn me," he grumbled, "but I have to give it to you. You really have plunged yourself into these assignments, haven't you?"

Merlin sported a tentative smile, though it never reached his eyes. There were stories he was less keen on sharing with the prince. Stories that could get him killed! Except of course … Merlin reached out again.

"**STOP**!" the prince cried, blocking Merlin's hand. "Why don't you just … use words to tell me."  
>Merlin retracted his hand, shrugging. "You'll miss the visual experience, then."<br>"I'll miss it, then!" Arthur said, stressing his words.  
>"Okay," Merlin sighed, "I did use magic on you once," he continued, bending the truth a little – okay, a lot.<br>"I _**knew **_it!"  
>"But only to help you save me and then save you."<br>"What?"  
>"Remember when I drank of that poisoned chalice for you?" the sorcerer stressed, reminding his prince that this manservant would do anything for him.<br>"Ye-ah?" Arthur said, insecure.  
>"Remember how you were caught in the cave, compliments to our lovely Nimuë?"<br>"How can I forget?"  
>"Well … that luminescent guidance ball that helped you out of the cave and away from the oversized spiders," Merlin's voice had gone surprisingly gentle, his eyes a bit more vacant, which made his face look impossibly young and vulnerable, "... I sent that."<br>"_What_?" Arthur exclaimed, possibly for the umpteenth time that day, "but how could you? You were out cold?"  
>"Apparently the magic part of me was still active. I believe that was the only thing that kept me alive. That … and knowing that you were working hard on saving my life."<p>

The last words were said with a certain trepidation and Arthur fell silent, well understanding what went through his servant's head.

Given what was revealed, would Arthur still work hard to save Merlin's life?

x

Scavengers. Foul stench. Black fields. Debris.

Everything reeked of a raid and consequent death.

Arthur stooped at a body that he gingerly turned over. _**Keogh**_. An icy sensation rippled through his body and down his spine by the sight of the charred corpse in which only the sun wheel pendant round the man's neck revealed his identity. Choking back a more emotional reaction, Arthur rose to his feet and looked over another killing field. The farm was almost burnt to the ground, the livestock had been slaughtered and the fields made barren with slaked lime.

"I promised to protect these people," the prince murmured, shock evident in his choking voice and young features.

"You can't be everywhere, Sire," Sir Elyan argued softly, his dark face drawn. Arthur turned to him.

"But I must be," he said, "I must find a way to be everywhere if I am to honour my easily offered promises of protection!"

Elyan looked down, having no answers.

Gwaine voiced what no one else dared to. "We must be going, Sire. Most certainly this means that Camelot is in grave danger."

Arthur nodded. He was right, of course. This attack on the outskirts meant that someone was targeting the kingdom.

"This place was raided about two days ago. Whoever did it, will have reached Camelot and we are to assume that our home has been under attack for one day at least. It still will be for the next day until we reach it. We must leave our wounded behind as soon as we can and only approach Camelot with wholesome warriors."

"The wounded will be left without protection, Sire," Sir Leon pointed out.  
>"They will have two knights and ten soldiers to shield them," Arthur stated.<br>"Not nearly enough," one of the wounded declared.

Merlin had dismounted and was now tugging Prince Arthur's sleeve. "What?" the prince said, "I'm busy."

Ignoring this, the sorcerer leaned over and whispered rapidly in Arthur's ear. The prince straightened. "You think that will work? It can be done discreetly?"  
>Merlin nodded swiftly.<br>"Make it so," Arthur decided with a nod, leaving his knights and everybody else in the dark as to that particular part of the plan.

x

Silently, Prince Arthur, son of King Uther, made a mute vow to return to Keogh's place and bury the dead. But for now, they needed to leave it as quickly as possible. Camelot was in danger! The entire party left immediately, leaving without a refill of water as the well had been contaminated with a dead pig. Not until they entered the next valley did they camp the wounded and replenished the water. Feeling more than apprehensive, the injured war victims watched the army trot off, including the Vikings that were looking up at the chance of engaging in battle again. One Viking and Bergerd were left behind, the latter exchanging a conspiratorial glance with Merlin as he departed with his prince.

"Are you sure you can trust her?" Arthur hissed.  
>"Don't worry," Merlin smirked, "I have put a limit to her powers."<br>"How? … oh, never mind. I don't want to know."

x

Fuelled by concern for their home and loved ones, it took the soldiers and knights only 1½ hour to reach the outer borders of Camelot. The Viking army, led by Thormod, were all mounted now and gathered in one group. Thyra still stayed close to Merlin and she still only talked if being talked to. Merlin had a feeling that he would come to appreciate her having his back before the day was over.

Even when they crossed the border, the smell of war was coming to greet them with the grin of death. Stench of Greek fire, burning blood, already decaying corpses hit their nostrils with such an intensity that they instantly covered their noses. And as soon as they came through the ravine, their eyes confirmed what they had smelt.

Camelot was under siege and being attacked from all sides.

Arthur quelled a gasp. _Oh, what cruel intent and fate_. That they should be so worn down and reduced in number that they did not stand a chance in hell of freeing the burning castle. He heard Merlin by his side utter the gasp he had strangled.

"_Oh, good lord_," the sorcerer said softly, tears stinging in his eyes.  
>"We need a plan," Arthur said grimly, turning his horse and calling out for his knights.<br>Merlin had trouble breathing; this was a lot worse than the battle against the Vikings.

This … was much closer to the heart.  
>This was home!<p>

xxx

So? What do you think? Interesting so far? R&R, please. I need to know if this is worth continuing.

A/N – jediyam noticed that in _Unhenged_, I really hadn't explained to you who Jormungand is. Oops. Well, here it comes:

Jormungand, or Midgard Serpent (Old Norse: Midgarðsormr), or World Serpent, is a sea serpent, and the middle child of the _jætte_ (giantess) Angerboða and the god of mischief Loke. According to the Prose Edda, Odin took Loke's three children, the Fenris Wolf, Hel and Jormungand, and tossed Jormungand into the great ocean that encircles Midgard. The serpent grew so large that he was able to surround the Earth and grasp his own tail. When he lets go, the world will end. As a result, he received the name of the Midgard Serpent or World Serpent. Jormungand's arch-enemy is the god Thor.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimers: All BBC's. I'm just messing with it a bit. ;-)

CHAPTER 2

Greek fire

A quick conference with his knights and Arthur was barking out orders. They had a unique opportunity to attack the aggressors from the back to the extent that they never knew what happened. The knights would each lead one platoon and charge from each corner of the world while Arthur would take the remaining soldiers and the Vikings to ram arrow head formation into the enemy at the front gate. The manoeuvre was sound. There was just a few tiny things wrong with it: they were outnumbered 1:3, the enemy had catapults and Arthur's soldiers were tired to the bone. Though having no military training, Merlin saw it as clearly as his prince did. He grabbed the prince's shoulder to get his attention.

"It's **suicide**! How do you expect to flatten an army that is three times your size?"

"It's doable – they won't expect a rear attack."

"_Arthur_!"

With one violent movement, his master shook his shoulder free of Merlin's insistent hand and in return grabbed his manservant's collar and hauled him to the side, intensely hissing into the young man's pale face: "What will you have me do, Merlin? Yes, we will most probably perish in the attempt to save our home. I can't make our enemy go away by the snap of my finger. I can't allow you to do it either. If the realm is saved by magic for all to see, the opponents to magic will no longer have faith in us. And since most of these opponents are in Camelot … the kingdom will tear itself up from within ."

Merlin gently put his trembling hands on Arthur's to loosen the prince's steel grip.

"You're choking me," he rasped. "Sorry," Arthur said, letting go of him, but never backing away. Merlin let out a relieved hiss, straightened and cleared his throat.  
>"You're missing the point, Arthur. No one needs to know!" he said hoarsely.<br>"You haven't exactly been subtle up until now," Arthur never blinked, but continued to gaze down his manservant. Merlin cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.  
>"No? I beg to differ. But, let me put it like this, then. What is the odd fire down there that burns so aggressively?"<br>Momentarily perplexed by what seemed a complete change of subject, Arthur took a while to reply. "Greek fire," he finally said.  
>"What is it? Can we make it?"<br>"Certainly not. It requires quite particular ingredients that remain a secret."  
>Merlin slowly smirked, the smile this time spreading all over his youthful face. "I beg to differ – again."<p>

Arthur went back to his knights with a slight change of plan. The would now start by showering the enemy with fire arrows and upon Arthur's signal charge. One significant detail: Merlin was to light the arrows. The knights looked at each other with sly smirks and ill concealed winks. "Spread the word," Arthur said with a firm voice, eyeing them with a certain amount of sternness and making them stop smirking. "And try not to make a big deal out of the identity of our lighter boy."

This time Merlin was the one to smirk.

x

As the archers lined up, taking out their bows and checking their arrows, one front line on their knees and one rear standing up, Merlin lit a spill and put a modified spell on it. _Forbearnan endeleáslíce_, he commanded voicelessly, concentrating so that no one would hear in order to maintain the stealth as promised to Arthur. _There_, he thought with satisfaction, this fire would burn indefinitely until he said otherwise. Merlin delicately transported the spill to the line of archers and very carefully proceeded to light one arrow after the other. It was now vital that the archers hit their intended targets and avoid any stray arrows in Camelot, otherwise their own people would suffer great harm. Yet it shouldn't be difficult; apparently everyone in Camelot had sought refuge and shelter and only desperate soldiers were in the streets, valiantly to the extreme, defending the castle to the best of their abilities. The archers were merely to hit the enemy closest to the rear. Being attacked from behind and realising that the fire couldn't be put out, would stir a panic among the invaders.

"All right!" Arthur yelled and lifted a hand: The warriors, British as well as Viking, fell completely silent, "You know your orders. First line is to target the enemy camp site; next line is to target the rear of their troops ... on my mark!"

Not a sound came from the soldiers or knights. Apart from the battle noise from Camelot, nothing, not even scurrying rodents or chipping birds could be heard. Everybody waited with abated breath, even Merlin, who guarded his special fire with avid vigilance.

"**FIRE**!"  
>Arthur's arm dropped and immediately a rain of flaming arrows were shot through the air. The enemy would certainly notice Arthur and his men's arrival now. But it didn't much matter; they would have, eventually, and this way, still with the element and advantage of surprise, the prince's troops might succeed in spreading terror and panic before the invaders could regroup. The arrows were already hitting their targets, enemy soldiers were already running to and fro, helter skelter in confusion, some of them stopping and pointing at the hill where Arthur and his warriors stood, others mainly fleeing for their life. <em>We have the high ground<em>, Arthur concluded with optimism, _we have the advantage_.

"**FIRE**!"  
>Arthur's arm dropped for the second time and the second line of archers shot their arrows and instantly drew back to let the first line forth again, having had their new arrows ignited by Merlin. The second batch of arrows hit the invading enemy army with great precision, and as the third line proceeded to hit the enemy camp again, something else happened with the catapults.<br>Either a crap carpenter or engineer had had a really bad day when building these things or the invaders were just hit by plain bad luck … or something else. With a loud crack and an ominous trembling, the big war machine broke into two huge pieces that fell on top of the unfortunate soldiers in the immediate vicinity, killing two birds with one stone. Merlin and Arthur looked at it, one with satisfaction, the other with wonder, as another catapult on the south side of Camelot keeled over and smashed 10-15 enemy soldiers. Arthur winced. "Ouch. That's gotta hurt."  
>"Another one?" Merlin asked in all innocence. Arthur smirked, getting the drift. "Please," he grinned.<br>This time Merlin made the catapult fire its deadly cargo downwards, right into the ground, roasting several foes in the process. He felt Arthur pat his shoulders.  
>"That's enough. More catapult 'accidents' will raise more questions than we can answer. Good job, Merlin."<br>A warm sensation spread from the spot where the prince had patted him to the rest of his body. It felt as if Arthur finally understood how Merlin could help him.

The prince turned away from him and roared the signal that sent the various platoons to their respective destinations. No more arrows would be shot out if they were to pass the front line and enter Camelot. Until Merlin delivered a spell, this fire would burn them as well as the foe, which meant that a complete wall of fire would block their entrance to the castle. Having delivered his orders, the prince turned to his own group, Merlin, the Vikings and 50 warriors and signalled them to follow him with a blood curling war cry, accentuated by the Vikings' booming voices. Arthur grabbed Merlin's tunic and hissed in a low voice, "Stay close."

Merlin had every intention to.

x

The first encounter, man to man, was not as brutal as Arthur had expected. Thanks to the rain of fire that the archers had showered the enemy with, Arthur and his men met nothing but sheer confusion when they attacked from the back. Some tried to turn round and give it their best shot, but in essence, the rear attack of fire and storming soldiers was such a shock to the aggressors that very few of them ever had time to regain their composure and fight with their former ferocity. The Vikings literally had a field day, hacking away anyone who stood in their way right up until Thormod threw away his axe in frustration, declaring this particular battle weak and boring. So, abandoning his axe, he began to kill with his bare hands.

As usual, Thyra was Merlin's shadow, terminating anyone who could be perceived as a threat to her self-chosen power-idol. When the sorcerer noticed that the Viking chieftain threw away his weapon, he asked his dedicated fan if the man was mad. The shield maiden's eerily water blue eyes twinkled and she bared her glistening fangs in something that was meant to be a smile and emitted what could be construed as laughter.  
>"He got bored," was her curt reply as she swung a morning star with her right arm, taking out a fleeing enemy that had come too close to Merlin in her opinion.<br>Merlin, on his part, glanced golden at attackers that had the slightest chance of approaching Arthur. Consequently, the Prince of Camelot was able to fight his way to the main gate, completely unscathed.

Compliments to the thorough preparatory war ministrations by Merlin, the battle for Camelot was, in essence, surprisingly short. What had seemed an impossible feat and a venture doomed to fail, was ultimately turned round completely by guile and skill. The enemies had been horribly charred by the Camelot army's 'Greek fire' and they found themselves to be entirely demoralised when they lost half their catapults. On top of all their rotten luck, their own Greek fire had appeared to be of a crap composition as it mysteriously blew out even before they could send it out with their arrows just as the already lit fires in Camelot's towers died impressively suddenly. Their camp had burned to a crisp, their leaders had completely lost overview and the turn of luck had reignited the hope for survival and triumph in the hearts of the Camelot defenders, who struck back with a vengeance.  
>Before the day was over, the invaders were on the run, many of them burning still.<p>

x

Before Prince Arthur entered the main gate, he sent Gwaine, still sizzling with energy and excitement, and 60 Viking warriors to return to the camp of the wounded with provisions and pick them up. Among the Vikings were Chieftain Thormod and their now newly appointed translator, Thyra, who only very reluctantly left her powerful warlock's side. Before she left, Merlin made sure that she knew her effort to keep him safe was appreciated. Truth be told, it had made his work so much easier and helped him focus on watching Arthur's royal backside. On top of this, there was something … something about her; Merlin couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it intrigued him.

As soon as all the appropriate orders were given, the prince rushed to the castle in search of one person whose smile with those full lips and beautiful twinkling eyes, he had dreamt of all the nights he had been gone.

Less beautiful eyes, but just as twinkling, met Merlin in a bear hug. In fact, the old man clung so hard to his young apprentice that the tears in his eyes wetted the young sorcerer's neckerchief.

"I was afraid I might never see you again," Gaius choked, his voice muffled by the neckerchief. Merlin said nothing, but rocked the emotional and utterly exhausted court physician in his arms. Grief, fear and battle fatigue had worn the old sorcerer down and the sight of his protégée in safe and sound broke down his defences for good. Eventually, he wept stormingly into Merlin's shoulder. At some point, the warlock felt another presence and looked up to spot Geoffrey, who stood forlorn nearby, watching the touching moment with red eyes that had faced hell. Feeling the need to explain his old friend's sudden lapse in dignity, the old librarian said:

"It has been … vexing," was about the strongest expression he could muster.

Arthur found Gwen with his father. She was rocking the old man in her arms, telling him that she would keep him safe from harm and he hung on to her like she was a life raft. The prince knelt in front of them both and took them in his arms.

"Arthur?" a crisp voice came from the once so powerful king. His son nodded, unable to utter one single word at first. When finally he gained control over his own voice, he whispered in the old man's ear.

"Father, I will make you a sacred vow. I will make sure that we never have to enter a war again. Camelot will never again be under siege. I will secure peace, whatever it takes."

He felt Gwen caress his hair and her gentle hand halt momentarily at his words. She, too, must be safe.

War, he decided, was no longer an option.

xxx

First: Cheers ever so much for your reviews. :-) And as to your questions: Both Freya and Thyra will play a part – two very different parts. ;-)

Remember to let me know how you liked this chapter. Criticism is _**so **_welcome! That's how I learn.

A/N – One very attentive reviewer has noticed that I let Percival talk a lot. To be frank, I hadn't really noticed that he doesn't talk in the series, which means that this guy obviously is out of character in my story. I briefly contemplated rewriting and republish the first chapter, but decided against it. I will, however, limit his remarks from now on.

One small anachronism. I let Greek fire be pivotal to the siege of Camelot, however, it wasn't manufactured until 673 AD.  
>For history buffs: It is said to have been invented by a Syrian Engineer, one Callinicus. The "liquid fire" was hurled on to the ships of their enemies from siphons and burst into flames on contact. As it was reputed to be inextinguishable and burned even on water, it caused panic and dread. Rumours about its composition include such chemicals as liquid petroleum, naphtha, burning pitch, sulphur, resin, quicklime and bitumen, along with some other "secret ingredient". The exact composition, however, remains unknown. One might call it the napalm of ancient times.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimers: All BBC's – minus the Vikings.

A lot of pondering and thinking going on in this one. Bear with me, please – more action in the next chapter. :-)

Scroll down for A/N.

**CHAPTER 3**

**Decisions**

"_Arthur knows?_"

Gaius looked at him with disbelief, his jaw dangerously dangling at the level of his knees.

Merlin nodded, a rueful smile on his lips and uncertainty looming in his eyes.

"He had just seen me get boosted by ten times dragon magic and some universe power as the cherry on top, which I found a little difficult to cover up."

Merlin had spent the better part of an hour recounting the events of the past ten days to his old friend and mentor.

"I see," the old man said softly, "how did he take it?"

The young warlock grimaced, "Ah, jeez – as well as can be expected, I suppose. He wasn't overly thrilled, and I have spent hours explaining past magical activities to him."

"Really?"

"Well … selected activities, that is."

"Of course," Gaius commented dryly. Merlin tipped his head and shrugged as acquiescence to the implied immorality.

"So … which selected stories?"

"Well … the one about the Lady Catrina for one, … and the one about the poisoned chalice – and when we later encountered an oversized sea serpent, I had to use my dragonlord powers and talk to it and that was a kind of dead give-away in the matters of the dragon."

"What sea serpent was that?"

"Bengerd called it _Jormungand_."

"**JORMUNGAND**! You actually harnessed the Midgard serpent?"

"Turns out he speaks the same language as the Great Dragon."

"But still, Merlin. That is quite a feat!"

"What is the real feat is still being alive despite Arthur knowing …. except … he's going to kill me when he finds out about the dragon."

"But you said, you already mentioned that when you fought Jormungand?"

"I … sorta left out the part where I release Kilgharrah."

"Oh," Gaius nodded and then added softly, "I can't say that I blame you."

The stiff, old man rose with noisy bones and a silent groan and stretched his back. Wars were for the young, he decided; he had already seen more than enough to last several lifetimes, and Gaius felt that it would definitely do the world good if Arthur managed to bring peace to the region.

"Still," he sighed, returning to the subject at hand, "the Prince hasn't thrown you in the dungeons; you're not charged with the crime of wielding sorcery; the realm is not about to tear itself apart in a mortal combat between pros and cons of sorcery… you have done well." Gaius went to the fire to feed it with more wood. To the cosy sound of the dry fire cracking wood, he then turned round and faced Merlin again, the fiery illumination behind him extenuating his outline.

"It may be time that you suggest he lift the ban on magic."

Merlin looked at his old mentor with something very like fear in his eyes.

"Noo-oo, Gaius. He'll eat me alive. I'm still not quite sure if he's at all comfortable with me having magic."

"Merlin," Gaius said, stressing the young warlock's name, "he has just accepted the use of magic during the siege of Camelot – he even saluted your efforts! He _**is**_ ready."

"I doubt it," his apprentice whispered, hardly even moving his lips, suddenly feeling very, very weak. The old man sat down again.

"If there is to be no more war, the regent of Camelot must show himself as the ultimate king to unite the entire country. Arthur must be crowned … but first of all he must go on a quest to retrieve the Sword in the Stone."

Merlin looked up in sudden surprise. "What?"

Gaius was smiling. "Before the siege broke out, I have heard of nothing but the legend of the blasted sword of yours, Merlin."

Merlin grinned back, remembering something: "The Vikings actually stated the Sword as their sole reason for coming to our shores. They said their prophetess – the _valve_, or something – had written about this long ago."

Gaius nodded. "_Vølven_, Merlin. The old Norse religion is tightly tied to ours. It shall be interesting to see what Bengerd can contribute to this."

x

The next morning was almost like any other morning. Merlin came to the prince's quarters, late as usual, except this time he found it hard to wake up Arthur. The sun was filling the room and the birds were constantly trying to top each other with their strong and diverse voices. The temperature was already up several degrees. There was, on short, no reason why the prince should still be asleep. Yet, there he was, dead to the world in his sheets.

Before grabbing the young prince's shoulders and shaking the life out of him, the sorcerer stooped to look carefully at his master's face.

Such a drawn expression, he thought with regret. A face that had seen more suffering and action than was good for the soul; a face deeply hurt by the fate of the father and lines, much too early, beginning to form as a result of the added responsibilities. "Let me lighten your burdens, Arthur," he whispered to the sleeping form, "let me fulfil my destiny and become _**Emrys**_, your trusted advisor, who helps you defeat all enemies and bring England together."

"What?"

Merlin's head jerked backwards in shock. Oh, dear me! The prince had awaken. The servant took a couple of steps back, terrified that Arthur might have heard something. "Eeerrm – good morning, Sire. Rise and shine!"

"That's not what you said," Arthur said, his voice slurred with sleep.

"Of course it was," Merlin lied without scruples, "it's what I always say."

"Oh, yeah," Arthur mumbled, then remembered to be annoyed and grabbing his pillow, threw it at Merlin, who, of course, ducked deftly.

Business as always, Merlin thought; if one had a lousy memory, one might think that nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all within the last ten days.

Except when Merlin headed for the door to fetch the prince's breakfast, Arthur's voice halted him.

"Merlin."

"Yes, Sire?"

"Come back here; I need to ask you a question."

Merlin obediently returned. Arthur looked at him in earnest, his expression mature and serious, devoid of pranks, teasing and youthful jester.

"I had a dream last night."

"Yes?"

With eyes that gradually went vacant, Arthur started describing the dream:

"The surroundings weren't Camelot to begin with. I was sitting on a root in the forest. I was wearing a crown – the King's crown – and holding a scroll. I passed this scroll to one of my officials, who read it out loud to the court assembly. It was a decree to lift the ban on sorcery. After it had been announced, there was silence," at this point Arthur looked at Merlin again, his eyes wide and fearful, "some in the assembly cheered and applauded, others drew their weapons and attacked the ones that cheered. There was blood everywhere; on the tree trunks, in the lake water, on the leaves ..." Arthur's voice was trembling now.

"Then the setting changed and we were inside of Camelot castle. My father, crownless and instead wearing a jester's hat, suddenly loomed in front of my face, his finger moving up and down to doom me. He opened his mouth and spewed another scroll that screeched THOU HAST FORSAKEN ME." Arthur was now shaking, but Merlin ignored an impulse to reach out and consolingly pat the prince who, all of a sudden, looked very young and fragile. "Finally, Morgana made an entrance, swinging her terrible lightening bolts – like the one she sent in your direction- and she cried _It is complete. I can use magic freely and haunt and torture anyone I like._"

"... and then I woke up."

Merlin continued to look at his master in utter silence. Arthur had not only manifested, but also voiced his deeply rooted concern about magic and its possible legalisation. What the young sorcerer said now was vital to the process towards lifting the ban. Merlin was keenly aware of this and therefore kept his peace.

Eventually Arthur turned his head and looked at him with uncertainty. "Well … say something, Merlin."

The servant approached a little further and said, quite calmly.

"It is like this, Arthur: There is white magic and there is black magic. White magic does good, and black magic does bad. Naturally, if one was to lift the ban, it would only be on white magic. Like having a bread knife and only using it for slicing bread – not for slicing people."

Arthur met his eyes with something resembling respect. "As simple as that?"

Merlin grinned. "Probably not. But it's a start." Then he turned and headed for the door once more. "But first things first – you need breakfast."

x

It was the night after the great court council meeting. Prince Arthur stood silently in the dark, peering into the misty night, having abandoned his bed that remained untouched and unruffled and in the same condition that his manservant had made it. As he looked out the window, he saw the street lights being extinguished one by one as the watchman made his last round. It was late. Very late.

Arthur sighed; he could not find rest or comfort until he had resolved the political issue. Every concern, every content, every detail was haunting him and kept raking his mind, making it impossible for him to lean back and relax.

Mulling over every single word that had been offered during the meeting, the burden of the future continued to feel increasingly heavy on his shoulders. His father was still completely incapacitated. The old king spent most his day drooling into the napkin that sweet Gwen was holding to his chin. A couple of nights ago they had found him wandering in the cold hallways, barefooted and armed with his old sword, insisting that he must return to Camelot to defend the castle. No one could convince him that he was already in the castle and that the enemy had gone. Arthur winced. To see one's father like this ...

The court council had convened to find a solution to the succession of the throne and to find a way to secure Camelot now and forever. Many proposals had been laid out, but none of them had been viable. They were all old wine in new barrels. Forge new alliances, establish the biggest army ever seen, getting mercenaries from abroad etc. No one had seemed keen to voice the one solution that would secure them: Uniting England. No more small kingdoms, no more domestic squabbles and eternal fight for power. The entire country standing united under one king. It would be folly to think that all the kings would meet and agree on one king; they would ultimately end up fighting for power again and try to take over each other's kingdoms. Thus was the Nature of Man. Ideally one king must be chosen and not by the others – but by destiny.

The castle had begun to look like its old self, recovering from the vicious hostile attack by neighbouring kingdoms, the dead had been buried, the wounded were taken care of and the destructions were being mended, and constructions rebuilt. The Vikings had been a terrific labour force and had already been out to survey their promised land areas. Except the odd shield maiden that still persisted as his manservant's protecting shadow. For once the prince's grim face with its cloudy countenance lit up in a spontaneous smile. Fancy Merlin having a stalking fan! Arthur continued to chuckle as the image of the tough Viking woman forcing herself on the thin, breakable Brit was conjured up in his mind. In the end, the prince might have to protect his manservant from this insistent she-devil.

_Manservant._

This term gave the prince pause. For five solid years he had seen and thought off Merlin as a servant; a servant that scrubbed his floor, mucked out his stables, fetched his breakfast, made his bed, helped him dress, emptied his night pot; a servant who was insubordinate, brash, saucy, insolent, lazy, clumsy and rude. Arthur still thought of Merlin as being all that – oh, and recently also ... what was it ... Oh, yeah – _omnipotent!_

Arthur shook his head, not knowing what to think of anything any more. No matter how hard he kept pondering and contemplating, he found it almost impossible to see this man – this faithful servant, someone he could have called his friend, had he not been a prince and the boy a pauper – as an all-powerful and highly dangerous sorcerer. Merlin!

The prince sighed and threw his memory back to the battle for Camelot. Awkward at first – then they had fallen into synch, perfectly complimenting each other: Guile, strategy and magic. A powerful cocktail.

An invincible cocktail.

And that's when it all became crystal clear to Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot. There was, in fact, no other way he could unite the country and install peace. He had seen the proof now repetitiously, both during the Viking attack and the Camelot battle. Neither could have been won without Merlin's magical efforts! With his powers and Arthur's fighting and leadership skills ... nothing could stop them.

Arthur straightened and stiffened, cold and warm sensations running through his spine, clenching his heart. The temptations of it! The absolute power that would come of it .. and the overwhelming responsibility that came with it. Absolute power corrupts absolutely! His father had always said that, but the truth of it was that this did not apply to magic alone. It applied to the combination of conventional leadership and magic. The power was between them; one person would not be corrupted as long as the two of them would keep it in checks and balances.

Arthur suddenly realised that he was holding his breath and only a conscience act of his brought it back as he exhaled carefully. Small huffs followed. So this was what it felt like.

_Making history._

xxx

A/N – Epic Squeguins etc.: That was, by far, the most extensive review I have ever had. Cheers a lot for that. Love your enthusiasm and your alliterations ("exuberant exclamations of elation"). Don't worry about me turning romantic. I haven't got it in me. At the most, I'll express some romantic sadness, just for the variation of it.


	4. Chapter 4

I am rerunning this with corrections thanks to a lovely long review (love ya') from Epic, who has made some valid points. It seems I have used the word 'monster' in a way that I did not intend. So I have replaced it with 'creature' – again thanks to Epic – and rewritten our two boys' conversation just a little. As for talking emotions ... well, boys aren't very good at that, but it was the plan to let the sensitive issue of Freya pop up again later.

Oh, and Epic ... I am never ever annoyed by a review. On the contrary – I am eternally grateful. How else am I to learn? Thanks a ton! :-D

Disclaimers: Op. cit.

**CHAPTER 4**

Going on a quest

"Pack! We're going," were the few words to the point that the prince barked at his manservant the following morning.

"Going? Where?" Merlin asked, turning away from the breakfast he was putting down on the table and knocking over the jar of jam in the process. Arthur winced, hoping to god he wasn't about to plan for the biggest mistake history had seen.

"To get Caliba.. Extermi.. that blasted sword, what else, you idiot."

Merlin's young face split open in a devastating grin.

"You're doing it?"

"Correction, Merlin – _**we**_ are doing it, so get your gear out and your bony butt in action."

"Are we going alone?"

"Of course. Camelot needs the protection that the knights can offer and besides, _**we**___need to go as unnoticed as possible – our enemies can**not** know that the only sane regent of Camelot has left the castle this early after the siege."

His manservant suddenly put up a comically indifferent what-does-that-have-to-do-with-me face.

"No, I don't really fancy it. I have tons of other stuff to do, you know."

It earned him a tin mug sailing through the air that he only just managed to dodge.

"You're going, you useless twit. After all, I need a witness – and someone to carry my things. And Merlin?"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Find out where that sword is supposed to be situated."

"Ah," Merlin said, his voice clearly indicating that there was something Arthur didn't know – again. The prince immediately straightened and fixed a suspicious glance on his serving boy. "What?".  
>Merlin cleared his throat. "The thing is … I know <em>exactly<em> where the sword is."  
>Arthur's eyebrows lifted themselves to the edge of his hairline, "Well, … good! Where?"<p>

"In the forest of Caerleon, close to the lake with the weeping willows."  
>"<strong>Brilliant<strong>!" the Prince exclaimed, "how did you know that?"

_Oh,__brother,__here__it__comes!_  
>"Um … because I … put it there." Merlin cringed, bending his knees slightly to prepare for running should it be necessary to flee from flying objects. Arthur's happy face fell and showed sighs that he felt sorely tempted, but out of curiosity he curbed himself and pointed to a chair instead. "SIT!"<p>

Slowly, the thin boy complied, squinting at the Prince and biting his lip. Arthur grabbed a chair for himself and swung it under his long legs.  
>"Right! Spill the main points – save the details for our journey!"<p>

Still expecting to be punched any second, Merlin very quickly blurted out: "Gwen's father made it, the Great Dragon breathed on it, your father used it to vanquish the ghost knight, big D. got mad – no love lost for your father there, you can count on that ..."

"_**Merlin**_!"

"... anyway. I threw it in the lake and got it back to fight Morgause before her blood goblet did its work. Then I planted it in the stone, making sure only you could get it out again."

Merlin stopped abruptly, barely daring to look at his master. When he did, he saw Arthur sitting in front of him with his mouth open in a disorderly way and a set of completely dumbfounded eyes. Carefully, and very slowly, the servant reached out to close his master's mouth. It clamped shut with a clack when the teeth connected. And then finally Arthur spoke.

"... eeerm – I get the feeling … that there is so much more you haven't told me. Five years, Merlin. I have never known anyone to be this busy over a period of five – measly – years."

The young warlock smiled, beaming with relief that he was still breathing. "Oh … you have no idea ...".

x

The primary problem of leaving Camelot was, no surprise there, the Viking shield maiden, Thyra and it took not only an order, but an order stressed with a magic-guttural command voice to keep her at bay. Even then she scowled her wolf eyes at Merlin, who did his best not to feel slightly disconcerted by the awe-inspiring sight. Eventually Bengerd, the cackling Viking witch, took her aside and what she whispered in her ear must have done the trick.

A couple of hours later, the twosome could depart, having been showered with all kinds of good wishes, several delicious lunch packages and more than one canteen of fresh water. Merlin smirked; only he knew how close the sword was – merely a day's ride; but he wasn't about to disclose that.

"Are you joking?" Gaius said, when Merlin let him in on his secret. "People have been swarming that place for days!"

"What are you talking about?"

"One murmured remark, Merlin. One! That was all it took for the unstoppable fire of gossip and hearsay to spread to the entire area. Remember the Vikings!"

"They were actually spurred by some prophecy," Merlin tried, but Gaius rambled on: "Not a day has gone by without the word 'sword in the stone' being uttered more than once by travellers, merchants and others. They all talk about the coming of the ultimate king that will pull it out and bring the golden age to England."

"Golden age?"

This was getting ridiculous. Merlin had just put the sword there to heed the dragon's words: That it must be kept safe so that no one but Arthur would wield it when the time was ripe. Merlin's digressing attention was returned to a head-shaking Gaius. "Do not underestimate the power of legends, Merlin. Not you – of all people."

Feeling slightly discouraged by the old friend's ominous words that more than hinted to a possible crowd round the stone, Merlin took off, this time riding his old Andalusian horse, wondering if this was going to be such a walk in the woods as he had initially thought.

x

Autumn was well under way. The golden multicoloured leaves were falling steadily, shed by the trees when they no longer had any use for them; the air was turning chillier by the increasingly shortened days and the sky was amazingly clear and blue and dotted with brilliantly white cumulus clouds. In the fields, the winter seed had just begun to germinate whereas the spring seed had long been harvested, leaving the fields dark brown with the occasional reflecting rain puddle here and there. The cattle had been brought in from the pastures and horses were being fed a supplement of hay where they stood, goats and sheep were beginning to huddle together to form a shelter against the cold winds.

To both Arthur and Merlin this was good news; armies rarely travelled during winters and no foe was stupid enough to engage in a siege while snow and coldness were wearing down their soldiers. Winter would be a period of grace. If they retrieved the sword before winter .. even better.

Merlin was showing the way; in the beginning, he proceeded in an annoyingly cocky way that made Arthur dream of days when he could use him for target practice. However, the further they rode, the more silent and introvert Merlin became. Almost in a way that reminded Arthur of their journey to get Balinor, who, apparently, was Merlin's father. Curious to the bone, the Prince prodded him.

"You're silent, Merlin. That usually means that something is up – or was up at some point in your past. Come on – tell me. You must tell me everything, you know."

Merlin strangled a sigh. With this particular issue, he really wished he could tell his Royal Pratness to mind his own damn business. Unfortunately … this had to do with magic.

"And," the prince added, "you still owe me tons of details of that sword story!"

Merlin kept still a while longer, trying to find solace in the rhythm of his horse's hooves against the rocky path; then he braced himself and began:

"You wondered how I got the Excalibur back from the lake?"

"I guess I just assumed that you used … well, magic!"

"No."

"Then how …?"

"Freya helped me."

It was the way he pronounced her name that made the Prince shut his mouth and forsake further questions. _Freya_. The softness of the vowels and the sensitivity of the consonants. For a second it almost sounded as if the young sorcerer had said 'prayer'. His voice sounded as if it could keel over any second if his control slipped for just a mere second, which made Arthur held his breath. Clearly, whatever the story was, it had hurt Merlin to the very core of his being. Arthur strained his ears, hoping that the young man would continue on his own accord. He wasn't disappointed.

"I knew her as a magical person that spoke to my soul – beautiful, kind, gentle and warm. You knew her as the winged cat creature that you hunted and killed in Camelot's streets."

_**Shock.**_

_Breathe__ – __breathe,__you__idiot_. Arthur found himself to be scant of breath. What did Merlin just say?

"Cat .. cat creature?"

Merlin turned and showed Arthur a face that was so vulnerable and etched by pain that the Prince nearly nearly jumped.

"She was human by day, but marred by a curse and thus a creature by night. I buried her in the lake, you understand, and she became a spirit."

"I ... am sorry. ... but are you sure? ...You're _kidding_!" was all Arthur could think of. _This__is__impossible!_

".. And she returned the sword when I needed it."

Though a burning 'wait a minute – you can't be serious' on his lips, Prince Arthur fell silent. Merlin seemed so raw with emotions that the Prince hardly dared move. Inadvertently, his mind flew back to the time when all this had happened. Then he whirred his head; truth be told, he remembered very little from that time. He did, however, recall the huge black cat with its burning eyes and impressive fangs, shining in the moonlight, down on its hunches, ready to lunge forward … and gradually he also remembered bricks and stones falling to the ground, making it possible for the cat to get away (at this point he eyed a Merlin, who never noticed anything, being knee deep in his own private emotional hell). And finally, he had a fleeing impression of a very young manservant, polishing boots and looking eerily pale as if he had just lost the will to live.

Arthur swallowed, his throat dry as sand paper. He had loved her!

x

_Wake up, Morgana._

*!*

_Wake up!_

_Morgana! Wake up! Morgana!_

Slowly, very slowly, heavy eyelids fluttered, a hand squeezed another, a small hand, and colourless lips were parted to emit a soft gasp.

A tiny smile on a very young face.

A deep sigh was squeezed out through clenched teeth. Lady Morgana came to gradually and saw, as her eyes finally managed to focus, her child prodigy at the side of her bed.

"Mordred?" she rasped, her voice almost unrecognisable, "W-at happened?"

The child's light eyes glowed at her, barely able to contain the hatred that dwelt there.

_Emrys_, he hissed with his mind.

Morgana winced as the boy helped her to sit. She was back in her bed in the secret cave where Mordred had brought her after the dramatic and fatal encounter with Emrys among the monoliths on the hilltop. The lightening bolt had hit her exclusively and left the boy unscathed. As quickly as he could, Mordred had managed to form a protective shield to take the brunt of the impact. Morgana's bolt had meant to kill and Emrys had, without as much as a flicker of the eye and utterly effortlessly, turned it round and sent it back at her. She shivered; Merlin Emrys had grown very, very strong. She had underestimated him greatly and that would never happen again. She coughed a little, by and by returning to life.

"Where is he now?" she asked hoarsely.

"I do not know," the boy admitted. "I have used all my concentration and power to heal you."

The young woman's hateful expression softened and all of a sudden, the young Lady Morgana peered out, the way she had been in the old days in Camelot, dressed in amazing robes, her skin plaster white and spotless, a lithe figure with graceful movements and extraordinary vitality beaming in her face; before Uther took her mind and soul and twisted it.

_Is this what you wanted, Morgana?_

An icy dream of a battle field and a white old warlock looming over her haunted her and made her tremble when she thought of it. Emrys towering over her, his face grim, prosecuting her and staring at her with those righteous eyes. It had been this dream that had opted Morgana to seek out Mordred and implore him: Find Emrys, to which he had answered with that uncanny little smile of his: "I already have".

_Is this what you wanted, Morgana?_

How _**dare**_ he judge her? He could have saved her! He could have changed everything. Had he told her long ago that he, too, had magic and that she wasn't alone in the cold, barren castle, things might have been different. But he chose to betray her. Her! His own kind! Morgana could think of nothing more unforgivable.

"I'm all right now, Mordred. Please – find Emrys for me. We must hatch a plan …!"

x

The fire was sparkling and generating most welcome warmth to their fingers as Arthur and Merlin sat down to have a lunch meal before continuing their journey. Merlin estimated that they would be at their destination just before sunset. The place was, after all, very close to Camelot. It would be a short trip and Merlin experienced some relief in that very fact. It would limit the time that Arthur had for questions – questions that demanded embarrassing answers. He could see it in the young prince already, his mind sizzling with curiosity and cravings for untold magical stories and explanations. The story of Freya had put a temporary stop to his urge, sensitive and painful that it obvious was to his servant, but the effect of it was now abating. The Prince wanted more!

Merlin sighed inwardly, trying to come up with some way of diversion. Then he looked up, straining his ears. Maybe he didn't even have to come up with anything? He sat up with a start.

"What?" Arthur said, his senses instantly alert.

"I heard something – I'm sure of it..."

"What exactly?"

"Like a rustle – and not that of an animal. And I thought I saw something too... Like two shining eyes."

The two young men stood still for a while before Arthur finally said:

"Are you sure it wasn't an animal?"

Merlin didn't answer right away, still concentrating on catching the smallest sign of intruders, but eventually he relaxed and shrugged.

"Could have been," he admitted. Arthur grinned, sheathed his weapon and sat down.

"For all your power, you're still a girl, Merlin."

The sorcerer smiled back, voluntarily taking the bait.

"Oh, we can't all be courageous clotpoles like you."

His remark didn't have the desired effect; Merlin saw the Prince suddenly stiffen, eyes vacant and mouth dropping open. Then he sprang to his feet, throwing his mug of hot tea to the ground.

"**THAT'S****bloody****well****IT!**"

"What? What? What?" Merlin cried in surprise, upset.

"_Courage,__Strength__and__Magic!_" the Prince exclaimed, pointing at his friend. "You're Magic!"

The warlock looked at him, trying to follow his train of thought and then it came to him. _The__eye__of__the__Phoenix!_ Oh, dear. Why did the Prince suddenly decide to grow a brain?

"Eermm," Merlin attempted, but Arthur was in his own world of elation.

"The keeper of the bridge said I was Courage – and that Strength and Magic would follow! And who came to help me? Gwaine and YOU!"

Merlin tried not to meet his eyes, but murmured a subdued 'hurrah'. Yet the prince was on a roll and had no intention of stopping.

"Obviously Gwaine is Strength!"

"Obviously."

"And that makes you MAGIC!"

Merlin was getting the point now, the sorcerer thought, finding the subject already thoroughly rehashed.

"This bridge fellow practically told me! WHY didn't I see it back then?"

"I can't imagine," was Merlin's meek comment.

"And as usual," the Prince emphasised, his hands back on his hips, "YOU didn't tell me. You just stalked me and ruined my entire quest."

"Well, I had to ..."

"WHY? Do you really see me as frail and weak as that, Merlin? Couldn't you just have let me do this one thing on my own?"

"Eeerm – no."

"And why not?"

"I sensed something was very wrong – and well, it was."

"Pfftyy – just because I felt a little nauseous at some point. I quickly recovered."

"Thanks to me."

"Oh, please – I would have come round eventually."

"No, you don't understand. It was Morgana's bracelet."

"What?"

"She gave you that bracelet with the stone, didn't you?"

"Yeah? For good luck. So what?"

"She had put a enchantment on it. It made you weaker by the minute."

"What?"

That really was the Prince's favourite word these days, Merlin thought, being somewhat annoyed by Arthur's frequent use of it. As reasonably as he could, he explained the whole thing to his master and by the time he was finished, Arthur's face had gone through a whole new series of expressions. After Morgause's blood goblet attempt, Merlin's master had finally understood that Morgana was the evil conductor of black magic; never, though, had he dreamt that her ill doings went that far back.

"My god," he whispered, "she must have been scheming for years."

"Yeah," Merlin said softly and ruefully.

"You knew?"

"Kinda … but don't you even think of asking me why I didn't tell you or the king."

However, Arthur shook his head, for once taking Merlin by surprise. "We wouldn't have believed you," he said, his voice serious. The sorcerer closed his mouth. Wonders would never cease.

And at this point it occurred to Merlin that some change had come over Arthur Pendragon. From one day to the other. It felt like something had clicked into place in the young prince's head. The warlock nodded. If he was right, it would make the transition from Uther to Arthur substantially easier than first anticipated.

That is … unless something came up …

xxx

...something, like eg. … Morgana, perhaps? Next instalment will show.

A/N – Again a thousand super thanx for your kind reviews. Jediyam: I shall do my best to oblige. ;-)

Historical note: I let the forest be a forest in Caerleon in Wales. Why? Because that's where Camelot is fabled to have been situated. :-)


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

Morgana

"Emrys and Prince Arthur have gone on a quest."

The young boy had just entered the cave, slightly breathless, his round cheeks youthfully flushed from running which made him look almost like a normal child. Morgana turned in her bed with difficulty, yet looking considerably better than mere hours before.

"Quest? Where? Why?"

"To obtain the Sword in the Stone – in the forest of Caerleon."

"Sword in the Stone? But that is a myth?"

Mordred shook his dark head, his eyes never blinking.

_The Sword is very real. It is Arthur's destiny to pull it out and Merlin's to take him to it._

Morgana felt confused; she saw no point to this Sword or its importance. Trying very hard to find a way to twist the fact to her advantage, she disregarded the myth and followed another track altogether.

"Which path are they taking?"

_Morgana_, Mordred warned, _you __are __yet __not __strong __enough __to __take __on __magic, __least __of __all, __Emrys._

"I know," she smirked, though the malicious glint merely being a shadow of its former self, "I will have to find a way to weaken the great sorcerer before I … bury him alive."

_Let me take him. I am not sure you will have magic strong enough to weaken him at all._

Morgana's smirk broadened to a full facial smile.

"Who said anything about magic?"

x

The remaining tea quelled the last fighting embers of the fire and Merlin packed away their utensils and the rest of their food in his saddle backs. As he went through the tack of his horse and checked that the girth was tight, he idly thought that since he came to Camelot, he must have spent at least half of his time camping out and riding through the country on horseback. _Arthur__can't__stay__still__for__very__long__at__a__time_, he concluded. Always on the move to reach the next quest, beat the next enemy, rescue the next damsel in distress.

How would he, Merlin wondered, put up with the more settled life as a ruling king? Then the young sorcerer remembered Guinevere. Ah, yes – she would probably keep him happy and at bay.

And Merlin?

Hunith's son almost froze on the spot. Yes, what about Merlin? If any luck at all, he would advance to the position as the King's court sorcerer, helping him unite the country, heal the country and reinstate magic, in short assisting the King in any way possible. Then afterwards? As Arthur settled down with Gwen and hopefully had a litter of kids, what would be the future of Merlin? Of course, there would still be court duties … but other than that? A deep sigh shook the thin body to the extent that he had to support himself by grabbing the horse's black mane. He knew damn well where his future was.

At the bottom of the lake with the weeping willows.

The path was an easy one. All they really had to do was to follow it, turn left at the junction and then keep turning left until they reached the ring dolmen at which point they should turn right. This path would then lead them to the lake. Both men were relaxing, dangling their legs into the air letting their horses walk with loose reins, enjoying the clear weather, sporting that carefree attitude you have when all the worries in the world finally seem to be behind you. Arthur sometimes tried prodding his manservant of past events, which Merlin mostly answered truthfully – with one or two exceptions. Was Morgana playing a double game when they went to get Elyan out of Cenred's castle? Yes, she was. Did Merlin have something to do with Morgause's failed attempt to slice an electrical beam through Arthur? Oh, yes he did. Princess Elena was possessed by a **what**? _You_ made that toad pop out of the witchfinder's mouth? Don't you _**ever **_do that to **me**, Merlin. Etc., etc. The two of them were relaxing so much, in fact, that hours had passed before Merlin finally realised … that they were going in circles.

"Are you _serious_?" Arthur asked, his voice appalled, "are we actually going in circles? I can't _believe_it! How can you goof such a simple route up – you **idiot**!"

Merlin didn't throw insults back at the Prince and it wasn't until Arthur had rambled on about his servant's complete lack of directional sense for ten minutes that the Prince noticed the crease in the young sorcerer's forehead. He recognised that expression. Something was seriously wrong.

"Merlin? What is it?"

Merlin was moving his horse to and fro, scrutinising the terrain markers closely. "Something is very wrong here. It is as if the entire natural layout has bent itself into a … loop."

"You mean..."

"Sorcery."

They both whipped their faces towards each other and cried in unison: "_Morgana_!"

"You boys called?" came a silken voice. They turned as one and stared at the woman, whom Arthur once had seen as his sister without knowing that she actually was.

"Morgana," Merlin said, "this is your doing." It was not a question. He knew well enough that it was.

"Sorry, laddies – I needed some time."

Merlin was almost afraid to ask, "to do what?"

"This," she said curtly, nodded to something – or someone – above them. As a reflex, they both instantly looked up – and Merlin had barely time to see it coming before a horizontal trunk flew through the air, hitting him dead centre on his skinny chest with a vengeance.

The young warlock was out cold on the spot; he never heard the prince's despondent scream of _**No!**_ and the subsequent _**Merlin!**_, but surrendered to the comforting darkness in the blessed bosom of oblivion.

Prince Arthur had jumped of his horse and was now cradling the bleeding Merlin in his arms, desperately trying to stop the blood from flowing. Shaking hands and panicky eyes conveyed his uncontrollable emotions as he pressed the young man's neckerchief to his torn chin. The trunk had hit him in the chest and then ricocheted upwards to catch his jaw. The violent impact had caused a substantial laceration that bled profusely. The blue neckerchief was quickly soaked and consequently useless, and Arthur pulled off his own armoury, removed his shirt and quickly tore it up for bandages. To no avail as the wound just continued bleeding, gaping mockingly at the awkward healer. _Who __would __have __thought __such __a __thin __young __man __to __have __so __much __blood __in __him?_ Arthur Pendragon tied a secure knot on the bandages and turned to look at the vengeful witch in front of him. His jaw was working in tension, his artery pounding in his brow; he was hopping mad.

"What _**is **_it with you? Why **must **you seize every opportunity to try your damnedest to kill this boy! **Tell ****me**! Is there a rational, sensible even logical reason why you should do that?"

The dark lady's blood red lips grew more intense. "That's easy, brother dear – he tried to poison me."

"What?"

Had Merlin been conscious, he would have rolled his eyes to heaven. Another _what_.

"Oh, you didn't know that, did you? Your little pet sorcerer hadn't told you that? Oh, yes – without as much as hesitating, your precious manservant handed me hemlock to drink."

"I don't believe you!" he said fiercely, tears burning in his eyes, more of anger than frustration.

"I don't care what you believe," Morgana hissed. "I care only that he die. And since you are with him and seem to care for him so much, you can join him."

Pale, beautiful and terrible, Morgana raised her arms, sparkles beginning to form between her hands with her slim, elegant fingers as conduit. With a strong voice, she cried a powerful spell that appeared to accentuate and enforce the energy she was holding at her fingertips. Arthur shielded his eyes from the unbearable light with one hand while he was fumbling for his sword with the other. But it was no use, he knew. With Merlin down for the count, he really didn't stand a chance in hell of defeating Morgana.

They were as good as dead.

Then .. out of absolutely nowhere came a huge form, a flash of tawny fur with two water blue predatory eyes, razor sharp claws and flashing fangs. The form launched a brutal and savage attack on the witch, who screamed in boundless fear and profound surprise.

Morgana rolled back on the ground, waving her hands to get them positioned into a magic wave when something completely unexpected and unfathomable suddenly happened. The shape shifted right in front of her eyes. In the background, Prince Arthur sat by Merlin's immovable body and tried very hard to comprehend the scene before him. Rugged tawny hair, long sinewous legs, sharp teeth and muscular limbs were all a blur. And that's when he recognised her.

_**Thyra**_. The wolf had become Thyra.

Morgana gazed at the apparition in wild confusion; then she raised her hands and in panic threw a cascade of bolts in the young Viking maiden's direction. The bolts flew repeatedly through the air, making it sizzle with power and sparks.

Her efforts had absolutely no effect. At the most, she had orchestrated an entertaining display of fireworks. The Viking remained standing firmly in front of her, unhurt and unimpressed. Then she spoke.

"Your sorcery does not touch me, oh, most vicious witch. I am sired by the Fenris wolf to a Valkyrie. I answer only to the Norse religion."

"What? Who?..." Morgana was completely at a loss for words. Who _was_ this woman? Wolf? Where did she come from? What was she doing there? Thyra continued, narrowing her eyes and clenching her fists:

"You will cease your aggression towards Merlin. If you approach him again, I will kill you. Consider yourself warned and pay heed to my words if you wish to live."

Thyra shifted her attention to Merlin's still form and knelt beside him. She placed one hand one his jaw and one on his chest, the two points of injury – and immediately the sorcerer coughed and opened his eyes.

"I heard Jormungand call," he rasped. And then he saw Thyra – and smiled.

"Oh, so that's who you are," he whispered. Thyra didn't smile back, which Merlin was thankful for – it would have revealed her intimidating fangs. Instead, she helped Arthur hauling the warlock up to stand on his legs, dusting him down properly. Merlin felt her sharper than sharp claws through the fabric of his clothes and shivered ever so silently, feeling eternally grateful that this woman was his faithful friend rather than his formidable foe. Still a little wobbly on his feet, he turned to Morgana, who stood fuming with rage, but not daring doing anything to upset the wolf-woman. But, then, he had his own brand of anger. Emrys woke in him, and when he opened his mouth and spoke, his voice had become darker and deeper.

"The dragon warned me about you long ago, Morgana, said that you were the darkness to my light. But I pitied you and persisted in protecting you. Do you think I poisoned you out of spite? NO! I did it to save thousands of people. Do you think I enjoyed it? NO! I have never forgiven myself for that even as I knew it was the only way to save Camelot. And still, silly as I am, I keep hoping you can be redeemed. GO! Forget your hatred and your wrath. Use your gift for good. Become a better person."

Morgana pinned him with her burning eyes, her fists clenching so hard that her nails drew her own blood. No way in hell would she let this treacherous sorcerer tell her what to do. Was this what she had suffered for? Was this what she had been betrayed for? Was this what her sister had died for? She … was a sorceress – and the King's daughter at that. She would have her right. She might not be strong enough to take out Emrys … but there was still Arthur. And through him, she would not only claim what was hers, she would also hit Emrys … hard.

And with that thought, she turned her attention to her brother, summoning all the power she could and … froze.

Merlin had stopped her mid-air with one blink of an eye. Glance deeply golden, mouth strained, wrenching his usually very soft young features, he emanated the very essence of fury and magic.

"I offer you a way out of evil and a chance to repent – and you answer by trying to kill my friend? If that be your answer and choice, then harvest the crop of your malice, oh, wicked witch: Feel the dragon's breath, look into my eyes; I condemn you to oblivion!"

And with that ominous promise, Merlin started chanting.

__Anal ____nathrach___, __orth'__bhais's __bethad, __do__che'l __de'nmha._

As the mist started to spread, Morgana jerked and stiffened and her eyes became vacant. For a moment there, she looked entirely like the old Morgana, her intense vulnerability surfacing and making her features innocently soft and childlike. Arthur swallowed. If only she could stay like that, he would take her to Camelot, make her warm and keep her comforted like the terrified little girl that she was inside.

"She is scared spitless, Merlin," he almost pleaded. Thyra snorted, having no kind of sympathy for the young witch, but the warlock understood what the Prince meant. "Yes, she is," he said gently, but firmly, "Morgana has been hurt deeply and traumatised to the bone. I feel for her, I pity her. But, Arthur, nothing is as dangerous as a mentally disturbed sorcerer."

The Prince nodded. Merlin was right, of course. Despite their past together, Arthur could now allow her to roam freely in the Kingdom as long as she remained a mortal threat.

"Why did you try to poison her?" he asked, his voice grim and somewhat sterner. This was something he had to know.

"She was the vessel that made the whole of Camelot lose consciousness. Only by killing her would the enchantment cease. In the end, her imminent death made Morgause abort her attack."

Merlin performed the chant one more time and then turned to face his friend with a much too mature face for his age. "It was the hardest thing I have ever done. It is _**my **_trauma, Arthur, my burden to bear."

The Prince looked down, realising the he would never fully understand the trials and their consequent influence on the sorcerer's soul that his manservant had been going through since he arrived in Camelot.

"What will happen to her now?"

"I have brought her into a deep trance and the dragon's breath will make her forget her past, at least for a while. I will call an old friend of mine and have him transport her to a safe place."

"Old friend of yours? Gaius?"

Merlin winced, hurting his jaw wound in the process.

"Not exactly," he admitted.

xxx

Who is he talking about? Read the next chapter and find out. :)

And please tell me how you liked it**. ****Constructive ****criticism ****is ****very ****welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimers: The Vikings are MINE – the rest is the BBC's

**CHAPTER 6**

Merlin's Old Friend

Merlin touched his jaw gingerly and winced. The trunk had hit his chin hard, and though the mere touch of Thyra's hand had healing powers, the wound was still an open gash that hurt horribly. The wolf-lady tipped her head, like one often saw dogs do when something puzzled them, and stepped closer, spit in her hand and reached out for the sorcerer's face. He retreated in horror.

"No," she assured as gently as she was able to (it still came out as a growl), "wolf saliva is healing."

Merlin clenched his teeth and his eyes to brace himself against the feeling of predatory spit being smeared in his face.

"Cheer up, Merlin," Arthur said with an evil grin, "it can't be worse than gaia berries and Wilderen bogeys," he continued, referring to the time Merlin's face was thoroughly examined by a Wilderen snout. Merlin made a face at him and then turned to look at Thyra in surprise; the wound had stopped hurting. She winked at him.

"See? Told you."

Arthur came to inspect her handi... or rather... spit-work.

"I say," he murmured, impressed despite himself; the edges of the ugly wound had fused and closed the gash, leaving merely scabs that would disappear after a couple of days. "Who are you really, Thyra? Merlin seemed to understand, but I'm just a mere royal prince and understand nought of magical business."

"I am the result of a joining between the Fenris wolf, brother to Jormungand, and a Valkyrie, Valhalla's choosers of the slain. Once Merlin had mastered Jormungand, his magic extended into the realm of Norse religion and a bond was forged."

"Ah! - So that's why you are so … no offence … attached to him?"

"Merlin Emrys had my father's brother at his mercy, yet showed him clemency. A debt had to be paid."

"And ..." Merlin interjected, "I take it that Bengerd told you to ignore my order of not following me into the forest completely?"

"Utterly," Thyra admitted with a wolfy grin.

"Gee," Merlin murmured, "thanks. Well, you're done now – you can return to the castle."

"In your eye," Thyra replied.

The warlock sighed, "I thought so. Well, then you might as well travel with us instead of running behind us all the time."

"That is not a wolf's way," she said curtly, turned round and vanished into the wood.

x

"Now, Merlin," Arthur said with a soft voice, "about Morgana...?"

The young witch lay on the ground with her arms sprawled. Her eyes were closed in a deep trance that made her look like a sleeping baby with her soft lips quivering and her chest slowly and peacefully heaving. Merlin almost regretted having to do what he was about to.

Without warning to Arthur, he threw his head back and roared:

_Ah, drakan, καλέω, δεῦτε!_

The Prince started. "Bloody hell, Merlin – give us a headsup first, will ya'? You almost scared the living daylight out of me."

_Nothing __compared __to __what __you __are __about __to __see_, Merlin thought as he kept his peace and listened for the tell-tale sound of flapping leathery wings.

Arthur was just about to say that Merlin's call had sounded mighty familiar when he saw the large dark shadow sailing through the forest. It flicked the top of some tree tops and it's powerful wings blew a sharp wind as they flapped backwards to slow down the massive body for the landing. Scaly skin shone in the late afternoon sun and intense golden eyes glinted like red gold.

The Prince cried out loud, taking several stumbling steps backwards out of sheer fear. He fumbled for his sword and bent his knees to assume defence position, and he kept yelling warning words to his manservant. The Prince recognised that shape. It was the dragon coming back to get his revenge. Coming back to haunt him and roast the people of Camelot to a crisp. Then from what seemed far away, Merlin's voice cried out insistently.

"**It's ****all ****right!****You ****won't ****need ****your ****sword, ****Arthur. ****Relax!****"**

Relax? What the hell did he mean? Then he heard another voice of a much more booming and resounding resonance.

"_I __see __you __have __brought __the __Prince __with __you, __young __warlock?__"_

Sweat made it from his brow to his eyes, running into his eyes and his mouth, tasting salty. Arthur blinked to clear his blurred vision and licked his lips, and when he could focus, he saw something that appeared unimaginable: The Great Dragon bowing to tiny Merlin.

Who bowed back, by the look of it. Then all of a sudden Arthur finally remembered. Merlin had harnessed the dragon!

"How may I be of assistance to you, Merlin?" Kilgharrah said, politely. Merlin looked down, grimacing. "You won't like it."

"Voice your concern, young friend," the dragon said.

Arthur, not really grasping the essence of the scene before him, was still crouching, ready to force his sword into the reptilian foe's soft belly should he attack his friend or himself. It wasn't until Merlin turned to him and distinctly told him to lower his weapon that he actually did exactly that, though still not relaxing.

"I _**told **_you," Merlin reminded him, "Kilgharrah survived and became my ally."

"But … why is he here?" Arthur managed through dry lips.

"Just **listen**," Merlin urged and turned to address his old friend again.

"Morgana is here, lying on the ground," he pointed at her still form.

"I see that. What is the witch doing here? She is dangerous."

"She is incapacitated for the time being."

"She should be incapacitated forever."

"That is my call and I do not intend to kill her," Merlin said firmly.

"I have said it before, young warlock, and I shall say it again – your determination to see good in people will be your undoing," Kilgharrah emphasised.

"Be that as it may. She is in a trance and she will need a place to rest while, hopefully, her mind heals."

For the first time in a long time, Merlin saw the dragon squint with embers of anger in his amber eyes. It unsettled the young sorcerer.

"I hope, Merlin, you are not suggesting what I think you are suggesting," he said silently and with a dangerous tone to his voice.

Ignoring every warning alert in his mind, the brave warlock kept at it: "There is a cave up the mountains near Delgellau. Take her there, please, and have someone to watch over her."

"**NO!**" was the adamant reply. Both Merlin and Arthur jumped. "I will **not **be instrumental in her recovery! I was once before and once is enough!"

Inside of him, Merlin felt a rush of power, and he opened his mouth, brow furrowed, about to remind the dragon who the dragonlord was when suddenly, a violent outburst from his right beat him to it. The warlock turned to find an incensed Prince Arthur.

"**You ****will ****do ****this ****be cause ****you ****owe ****us!** You murdered hundreds of innocents when you attacked Camelot and we have not forgotten that."

Merlin looked at him with something resembling fear in his eyes and started waving his hands furiously attempting to signal for Arthur to stop immediately. This was not the right time to reopen old wounds and it was certainly not helping matters.

The dragon's reaction came promptly. "How _**dare **_you," Kilgharrah roared, fire coming out of his nostrils, "do you **know **how much I have suffered at Uther's hand?"

"That does **not **justify killing innocents," Arthur yelled back, having lost all fear of the huge killing machine in front of him.

Merlin was panicking – this was not going well. He would have to do something to stop it before one of them or both of them lost their temper entirely.

"_**Stop **__**it, **__**Arthur. **__**Kilgharrah **__**is **__**not **__**to **__**blame. **__**I **__**am!**_"

This statement made both of them turn taciturn abruptly and look at the thin sorcerer.

"What?" Arthur said, true to his nature.

Merlin looked at his prince with eyes of boundless agony. His breath came out in small staccato huffs as if the trunk had just been landing on his chest once again. But this could not be procrastinated. It was not the way he had planned to tell Arthur, yet it would appear that fate wanted it thus. True to his self-sacrificing core, Merlin disarmed a dangerous situation by handing himself over for public flogging.

"I released … the dragon," he finally said, his voice almost a whisper. As he continued, Arthur had to strain his ears to catch the words – he had never heard Merlin's voice be so hushed and so full of pain as if every word took everything he had.

"It was _my_ fault, do you understand? I as good as killed those people. I am the one who should bear the brunt of your wrath."

Not knowing what to think, Arthur's breath began to match that of Merlin. The past days had been a white water rafting experience in terms of wrenching his mind round one revelation after the other. Earth-shaking ones, even. And here he was – being subjected to yet another one. More mundane of nature, perhaps, but quite possibly the worst one to accept. Merlin had released the dragon! Why. He needed to know why. The reason might not explain a lot, but it would be something to cling on to for his sanity.

"Why? Why did you do that?" he said, his voice hoarse and tired.

"Because it was my price!"

Both Merlin and Arthur turned, surprised. The voice belonged to Kilgharrah.

"What price?" Arthur asked.

"My price for helping Merlin save Camelot when the risen knights of Medhir attacked you."

The Great Dragon's eyes blinked placidly and peacefully at Arthur Pendragon; the fury and anger were gone, the victim making amends with the son of his tormentor. Arthur then realised the depth of injury and sorrow that had engulfed this mythical beast being forced to the brink of extinction. The Prince nodded, turned and looked at Merlin. "Live to fight another day," he murmured.

Kilgharrah bowed his head, including, this time, the Prince in his gesture of respect. Then, without another word, the huge yet graceful reptilian grabbed Morgana with one claw and turned to look at Merlin.

"I will take her to the mountain of Delgellau where the Spirits of Winds will look after her if that is your wish. It saddens me, however, that by doing this, I am also instrumental to your final demise, young warlock."

And with those prophetic and final words, the Great Dragon lifted off the ground with an earth shattering and air thundering flap of his wings and quickly disappeared with the witch.

It took Arthur a couple of seconds to collect himself.

"So .. he did it anyway?"

"Of course," Merlin said, low-voiced, "he is compelled to do a dragonlord's bidding regardless of his feelings about it."

Arthur made a double take and eye balled his friend.

"You mean … like a magical rule or what?"

Merlin smirked. "Yeah, like a magical rule."

"Oh, _nice_," the Prince exclaimed, "you could have told me! I wouldn't have blown up right in his mighty face had I known that he had no choice in the matter!"

Merlin continued smiling, feeling a damn sight lighter of mind now that the worst secret of them all was out in the open and had left the sorcerer still standing and in one piece. Then his smile fell; the truth still hurt. His friend needed to know that.

"You don't know how absolutely scared witless I have been."

"What do you mean?"

"I was responsible for so many deaths, Arthur. It cringes the insides of me to think of it."

Arthur looked down, hacking the tip of his sword into the dirt, rustling up a few rodents and cones. He felt as if he was at a crossroad; he could either punish Merlin by letting him stay in his own private hell, or he could put himself in his place and help him out of his misery. Arthur smiled; there really wasn't much of a choice.

"It sounded to me like you had no choice, Merlin," he murmured. Then he looked up and Merlin felt relieved by the look on his face: It was relaxed, unstrained and friendly.

"Great powers instigate great decisions, sometimes. And not all decisions are ideal. You were between a hammer and a nail – or a rock and a hard place, if you prefer. So you did the only thing you could do: You made sure we lived to fight another day."

The Prince went to him and landed a heavily gloved hand on the scrawny boy's shoulder with such a force that Merlin swayed a little under its weight.

"In an ideal world, you would have told me. And truth be told, I would probably have come to the same conclusion as you did. Put it out of your mind, Merlin. Make your peace with it. In all times great war leaders have had to make similar tough decisions – and live with the result."

Due to Morgana's little orchestrated detour, the young men had to camp for the night, evidently not reaching the Sword before nightfall. And for the first time in many days, Merlin fell asleep the second his head hit the interim pillow, diving into a deep, peaceful slumber of no worries. Arthur, however, lay awake for several hours, mulling over the recent disclosures and events; as the train of his thoughts continued to go in circles like their trip had, one prominent issue kept badgering his mind:

What did the dragon mean by Merlin's demise?

xxx

Hope you liked it! We're getting closer to the Sword all the time. And who knows – perhaps we'll meet more of Merlin's old friends. ;-)

Please let me know how you liked it.

A/N – If you want to know who the blast Fenris is, read on: Fenris is a gigantic and terrible monster in the shape of a wolf in Norse mythology. He is the eldest child of Loke and the _jætte_(giantess) Angerboda and brother to Jormungand and Hel. The gods learned of a prophecy which stated that the wolf and his family would one day be responsible for the destruction of the world. They caught the wolf and locked him in a cage and had the dwarves make a magic chain. The chain worked like a charm (literally!) and the gods carried Fenris off and chained him to a rock, called Gjøl, a mile down into the earth.

On the day of Ragnarok (Judgement Day), Fenris will break his chains and join the giants in their battle against the gods. He will seek out Odin and devour him. Vidar, Odin's son, will avenge his father by killing the wolf.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimers: All BBC's – as usual. Thyra's mine, though.

We have finally reached the sword! Read and enjoy, and please tell me good and bad. :-)

CHAPTER 7

The Sword in the Stone

The next morning it was Merlin who woke up as the well rested one and Arthur whose eyes expressed weariness and stress. After his usual "Rise and shine," the sorcerer threw his companion a troubled glance and proceeded to try "Up and at it, lazy daisy" to see if he could pry any reaction from him. Not a peep. Now Merlin was seriously worried.

"Sire, are you all right?" he asked, his young face conveying a beginning concern.  
>"Don't call me 'Sire'," Arthur murmured, his voice indicating a substantial lack of sleep.<br>"Arthur, - today is the day. The day you seize the sword, in essence the power to bring peace to a united country!"

However, Arthur's crease in his forehead didn't disappear. If anything, it grew deeper.  
>"Tell me," the warlock implored urgently.<p>

Arthur donned his chain-mail and sighed. "You keep saying it's about destinies, Merlin. Destiny me this and destiny me that." The Prince raised his crystal blue eyes to pin them on his friend. "I was destined to be Courage, Gwaine Strength and you Magic. Morgana was destined to turn bad, the Great Dragon was destined to be freed, the knights of the Round Table were destined to be established, I am destined to lead Camelot to fight for peace and glory."

"Yes?" Merlin asked tentatively, wondering where all this was leading.  
>"Well, then according to Kilgharrah yesterday, you are destined to show Morgana clemency – which would lead, and I quote, <em>to<em>_your__demise_!"

Merlin let his eyes fall and the lines of his face grew soft and mellow. He knew of this prophecy, of course. When he looked up again, he found Arthur's eyes had not left him, but were, in fact, stilling pinning him, demanding an answer.

"It is like this, Arthur," Merlin finally answered, his voice low and gentle, "if I do not follow my heart and do what I think is right, I will not become the one I am destined to be."

Silence befell them both as the Prince mulled over the reply. The double edged sword. The paradox of destinies that one part of it will fuel the other and make it come to pass, which will, in return, lead to the cul-de-sac of tragedy. Then Prince Arthur reached out his now gloved hand and rested it on his manservant's shoulder.

"No," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for negotiation, "this is one path I will not allow Destiny to take. There will be a solution to the paradox – the future has not yet been written."

Merlin looked up and met his steely eyes, unable to smother a smile. "We must all die at some point. What if it doesn't happen until I'm well over the hill?"

Arthur Pendragon slowly shook his head, "that is not what the dragon meant. Demise is not the same thing as a peaceful death of old age."  
>Merlin shivered slightly, remembering the blood chilling vision of Morgana burying him alive.<br>"If Kilgharrah is right, the only way to avoid the path is to kill Morgana, and that I will not do."  
>"Why not?" Arthur challenged him, "you did it once before!"<br>Whether or not intended, the implied reproach hit Merlin like a whiplash and he cringed and winced at the same time, unable to hide his discomfort.  
>"That was to save others," he explained and then looked the prince directly in the eye: "I cannot kill her now to save my own life in the future."<br>"Then there **must** be another way," Arthur insisted.  
>"Perhaps it is the nature of the demise that can be changed," Merlin suggested meekly. Arthur pursed his lips, looking slightly up. Then he smiled, patted Merlin's shoulder one last time and declared: "Perhaps it is."<p>

Then he turned to have the breakfast Merlin had prepared and his servant drew a breath of relief. The Prince's mood had improved. The quest ahead would now be a lot easier to complete with a prince that didn't mope.

In fact, Merlin felt so relieved that he didn't feel or n notice two burning eyes following his and Arthur's every step.

x

The twosome reached the Lake of the weeping willows rather shortly after breakfast. Merlin lead Arthur to a rise from which point the view over the lake was breathtaking, the morning mist and rising sun adding to the dreamlike and otherworldly impression.

"My word," Arthur exclaimed, "that really is quite beautiful."  
>Illogically, Merlin felt proud at his praise. "It is not far now. This is the dwelling place of the Lady of the Lake."<br>"Lady of the Lake?"  
>"That's what I'm calling Freya in my mind," he said, falling silent.<p>

Arthur didn't comment on it, but proceeded to follow Merlin round the bend and back on trail again. Neither of them saw the faint ripple on the water surface as they left.

Merely 15 minutes later, they met the first traveller. Well. That was to be expected. Morning was trapper-time after all. Then only ten minutes later, they another traveller, this one basically packed in armoury. Both Merlin and Arthur cocked their eyebrows and then turned to exchange glances. Five minutes later another armoured traveller with colours on his shield that Arthur did not recognise: A knight from another kingdom from far away. What the h...?

And as they rounded the next grove of trees, they were suddenly met by a crowd of very different people that had one thing in common: They were fighting.

"What the hell is going on?" Arthur murmured, wishing for the peaceful silence and tranquillity of the lake. "Oh, no!" Merlin cried, suddenly recalling his mentor's warning words. Arthur turned to cast him an inquisitive eye.

"Gaius!" Merlin explained, "He warned me that the legend had long spread throughout the kingdom and beyond by gossip and hearsay – and that quite possibly people would be here already."  
>Arthur shook his head, still not getting it. "Why are they here? Sightseeing?"<br>"No, you dollophead," Merlin cried, upset, "to try out for the Sword pulling, of course."

x

Arthur winced as he witnessed a skinny red-headed lad being flattened by a much larger ruffian in leather garments. In addition, no one appeared to help the unfortunate boy; the various warriors and travellers simply stepped over him without as much as offering a helping hand. The two of them were just about to go to him, when the laddy jumped to his feet and proceeded to knock down someone smaller than himself. Clearly it was every man for himself. It was a madhouse.

"Then why didn't we meet any travellers yesterday?" he asked, relevantly.

"Because we went by my private short cut," Merlin enlightened him. Arthur nodded and dodged a flying traveller that had just been sent his way by a bigger knight from Cenred's realm. He swore soundly under his breath.

"Well, isn't that just _swell_," he growled, "that means I have to fight just to get to the blasted stone."

"Pretty much," Merlin agreed and steered his horse deftly round a bunch of knocked out warriors.

With an impressive vocabulary of very unprincelike oaths, Arthur Pendragon threw himself forward, shoving people aside with one foot and knocked them over with his left hand. The Prince tried very hard not to hurt the rivals too hard – after all, this was not a question of life and death.

Of that he was correct – it was a battle for something a lot more vital. It was a fight for power! And this didn't occur to Arthur until a huge, aggressive giant leapt at him from a rock nearby and quite unceremoniously tore the prince off of his horse and flattened him by the sheer weight of his body. The Prince fell to the ground with an 'oouff', losing every breath of air he had in his lungs. Merlin reached out and grabbed his now rider-less horse by its reins and smirked. Arthur was SO on his own; the sorcerer confident that this was actually something the Prince easily could handle by himself.

Arthur got to his feet, grabbing the giant by his throat and sending him to where he had just been with one powerful fist. He then turned and looked at his servant with obvious disbelief. "Are you going to just sit there or help me, Merlin!" he cried, frustrated. Merlin laughed happily. "Oh, this you can muster on your own, surely." and with an indicating nod of his head, he hinted that someone was attacking Arthur from behind. The Prince turned and bashed the head in on someone in a blue cape. Then he turned back to his insolent manservant.

"**Mer**lin!" he yelled, "You either get down from there or you can find yourself another job!"  
>"I actually wouldn't mind that..." Merlin began and was then stopped by a roar:<br>"_**MERLIN**_!"  
>Merlin emitted a mock sigh. "Jeez – don't get all rowled up, now."<p>

Not being totally stupid, Merlin did not get off the horse, but continued, rather, to help with a little secret magic here and there. While Arthur was sweating like a pig in his armoury in the middle of a swarming crowd, Merlin enjoyed the fresh air on top of his horse, throwing the occasional golden glance whenever he felt that a particularly mean knight needed to lose his sword, his helmet or his trousers. Of course, in the end, he wasn't allowed this luxury. A tall, mean-looking ruffian with shoulder-long, greasy hair and one prominent bushy eyebrow reached out a strong arm and pulled the sorcerer off of his high horse. The thin young man plummeted to the ground like a sack of potatoes and to the dying day of his life, would swear that he heard a malicious chuckle nearby.

Of all the ingratitude!

Dodging, ducking, evading and getting out of the way, Merlin ended up back to back with his prince after all. "Finally!" Arthur cried. "What do you expect me to do here," Merlin recounted, "I can't use my … gift in public yet."

Arthur buried a foot in the groin of an obscenely fat knight, who tumbled backwards and in the process knocked over several competitors like bowling pins, "I'm sure you'll think of something; in fact," he followed up the kick with a shove of the sword hilt, "I have every faith in your resourceful mind."

Despite being back to back, Merlin was sure he heard the prince smirk.

Several 'ouf's, 'ouch'es and 'arrgh's later, the two friends had come so far that the Sword was actually in sight. At least, they believe it to be so. The top of the hilt sticking into the air was covered by hands clutching it, but they assumed it was there.

Merlin couldn't believe it. The stone and particularly the sword were swarmed by people, trying to grab it and haul it out of the hard stone. Nobody had been successful so far, of course, but it was still awe-inspiring to see what promises of ultimate power would do to a crowd of human beings.

This one spark of epiphany suddenly made everything fall into place for the young warlock. Why the road had been this long, why the troubles so many and why no short cuts could have been made. It was this single moment that it all had led to and why there was only one man who could wield this sword and who ever should. How this one person had been honed and had evolved to take possession of this powerful sword – and why no one else could. The truth was right here: The ugly, insatiable cravings of power-hungry people.

Without this development, this arduous road through several years, Arthur would not have been who he was and he would not have been fit to wield the power. Merlin gasped at the enormity of the realisation. To Arthur he said: "It's right there, Arthur. Remember – the second you touch it, you can pull it free and wield it. And wield it, you must, or the crowd will take it from you. They are like crazed animals!"

"Animals are nobler than this," Arthur argued, knocking yet another drooling, wide-eyed warrior over. Literally with a glint of an eye, Merlin turned the entire ground from Arthur and himself to the outer rim of the glade muddy and slippery as ice, which put an efficient end to the pushing and pressure. Now remained only the madmen between Prince Arthur and the sword.

The Prince tried the reasonable approach at first.  
>"Stand aside, friend. You have attempted to claim the sword, but you have failed. You are not the chosen one. You must now let others try their luck."<p>

Fine, noble words, but Prince Arthur might as well have been talking to a brick wall. The broad man blew him a strawberry, locked his hands round Excalibur's hilt again and pulled with all his might for the umpteenth time. "Very well," Arthur grumbled with a sigh and planted the hilt of his own sword on the warrior's helmet with a clang. The unfortunate rival stiffened, swayed and flopped down to the ground with an inarticulate grunt. Two of the others felt it wise to retreat whereas three optimistic knights ignored the young royal contestant and just threw themselves at the perty, shiny sword. Arthur Pendragon groaned, fought them off, reached out and pulled the sword from the stone in one go.

And that was really all that was to it.

With an expression of puzzlement, the young Prince now stood holding the legendary sword in his hand, things having developed rather anticlimactically. Right up until the sun broke through the dense layer of tree leaves. Merlin, holding his breath, noticed it and hastily and urgently whispered: "The sword! Lift it up, man! Claim your victory."

Arthur looked at Merlin with bewilderment, but woke up as one in the crowd suddenly lunged at him. With a flourish, he shot the beautiful sword into the air and the blade caught the sharp morning sun, sending fiery flashes of flames round the glade with a vengeance.

Everyone went silent.

Excalibur had been drawn!

"Say something!" Merlin hissed out of the corner of his mouth, "something valiantly and grand." Arthur scowled at him.  
>"Behold the sword!" he began a little hesitantly and then continued with more confidence, "<strong>Behold<strong>**the****sword****of****power**! Excalibur has been claimed! I shall wield it and bring peace to the country. From now on, all British will extend a hand towards each other and all battle will cease. Behold Excalibur!"

Silence.

Arthur glanced at Merlin, his insecurity returning. Merlin shrugged.  
>And then a roar from the crowd rose up and almost blew the Prince away. It was not, however, a roar of adoration and hope. Instead, the mass of people jumped the two men's bones.<p>

Very, very quickly, both Merlin and Arthur were subdued and referred to the bottom of a heap of fighters. Muffled, from attackers sitting on top of him, Merlin managed to cry at the Prince: "Wield the bloody sword, Arthur!"  
>Still worried he might hurt someone ... over a mere sword, Arthur started slowly.<p>

_**WHAM!**_

And a particularly heavy-looking man sailed through the air and connected with a red wood tree, sliding down its bark and ending in pieces in the dirt. Amazed, Arthur looked at the blade that virtually sizzled with power and energy. Wow. That was really something, he had to admit. Confidence swelling in him again, he pushed himself from the ground, now feeling how Excalibur's energy took over his arm and claimed its next victim.  
>Another rival connected with something hard and unyielding. And then by one other stroke, three brutes got what was coming to them. Merlin had freed himself and was watching with awe. Bloody miracle, that's what it was. Never, when Merlin had been using it, had it displayed this much raw power and magic. Excalibur surely was for Prince Arthur.<p>

xxx

TBC!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimers: Yadadada .

CHAPTER 8

The Lady of the Lake

It took only a few more strokes with the powerful blade, so blessed by the dragon's breath that the hand that held it never tired, before everyone present finally understood the futility of even trying. Abashed and beaten, they turned round, picking up their lost belongings and weapons and headed for home, chagrined. This was certainly one feat they would not recount or narrate on their home journey. A few of them, however, had been sorely impressed with the rightful wielder of the Sword and would quickly spread the word that Excalibur had finally been claimed and thus the heir to the united kingdom had been identified.

When the last rival had left the scene, Arthur collapsed on a tree stub, tired to the bone, his chain-mail and armoury suddenly feeling a good deal heavier than it was. A few followers gathered round him, trying to touch him and get some kind of piece of him for blessing and good omens. Merlin stepped in and made them leave and then sat with his friend, who was still clutching the luminescent blade.

"Wow," the sorcerer breathed, "that was … one … freaky … experience."  
>Arthur agreed wholeheartedly, but had no breath or energy to voice it.<br>"I guess we can stop worrying about witnesses to your claim. And quite possibly – if not for absolute certain – the rumour will exceed your return to Camelot, Sire."  
>"Don't call me 'Sire'," Arthur found breath to murmur. Merlin smiled, the corners of his mouth reaching from ear to ear. "But you are, Arthur. You are now truly the Sire!"<p>

And then Merlin did something that Arthur had thought he would never see his insubordinate manservant do. He knelt in front of his prince, bowed his head and declared:  
>"Sire. I swear my allegiance to you and I will, in any way possible, aide you in your endeavours to unite the country. You will be my king till the end of time. My life is yours."<p>

Then he looked up and met the eyes of a flabbergasted prince, sending him that wide smile of his.  
>"Just wanted to be the first one to say that."<p>

It earned him a slap with Arthur's glove.

x

Merlin suggested they take the same way back to Camelot; this would most likely help them avoid too many admirers and challengers or others who had a keen eye on the sword. In addition, Merlin secretly hoped he would be granted a silent moment by the lake.

The two of them took off in silence, neither of them feeling the least bit chatty. If what they had just been through with the crowd in the glade was any indication, the sword that Arthur Pendragon had now taken, would be the object of power and desire for all time to come, and perhaps their trip back to Camelot might be the most peace they would get for a long time.

After while, Merlin suddenly turned round in his saddle, looking like a man who was listening hard to his surroundings.  
>"What do you hear?" Arthur asked him.<p>

Merlin didn't reply right away, but continued to listen, concentrated. Eventually, he sat back in the saddle, but continued to feel and look worried and uneasy.

"I'm certain I heard something," he murmured, "almost like someone was stalking us."  
>"Thyra?"<br>"Certainly not – this was a person."  
>"And Thyra is not? Don't let her hear you say that."<br>"She would be in a wolf's shape," Merlin pointed out and quite rightly so.

Soon, however, they were at the lake and Merlin forgot about his surroundings, taken by the presence of his lost love and the beauty of place. Arthur noticed the change in his servant's mood. "Would you like some time here, Merlin?"  
>"Yes, please." The warlock's voice was but a whisper.<p>

On gangly and slightly shaky legs, the mighty warlock walked to the shore of the lake and sat down, his eyes already brimming over with tears. _Freya_. He missed her so much. He missed her smile, her shiny black hair, the depth of her eyes, her soft mouth and the exquisite hue of her skin. He longed for the touch of her hand and her lips, her melodious voice and the goodness he saw in her eyes when she spoke to him. He missed everything about her.

_Freya!_

A faint rustle from behind told him that Arthur had approached and the sorcerer keenly felt how the Prince awkwardly tried to formulate some kind of solace.

"You know … with my feelings for Gwen, I … I can't imagine what it would be like to lose her. To lose the one person that completes you, mind and body. It would be like – losing your soul."  
>Merlin smiled ruefully; the Prince was trying his best, reaching out a hand.<br>"Yes," he whispered, his voice breaking, "that's what it feels like."

Arthur looked down, knowing that his words were inadequate. Then he raised his newly conquered sword and cleared his voice.  
>"With this sword I swear that people like Freya from now on will be helped, not prosecuted."<br>Merlin smiled, wiping away tears. This was a much appreciated gesture of...

… with a loud smack and a cry from its owner, Excalibur suddenly sailed through the air a good ten yards over their heads and splashed into the water of the lake. Merlin cried out too, turning.

"What the _**hell**_ are you doing?" he yelled at the Prince, who was clutching his right hand with his left, swearing like a blacksmith.  
>"That wasn't me," he groaned and he cradled a hand that, Merlin now noticed, was bleeding. The warlock followed his glance and saw large stick, a piece of a branch by the look of it, on the ground, its edges tinged with something red. Blood from Arthur's hand! Merlin quickly made the connection and looked up.<p>

"Who...?"  
>And that's when they both saw Thyra appear from the the trees on the rise, twisting the arm of .. someone small. Merlin inhaled with a hiss.<br>"Mordred!"  
>"What?" Arthur said, "that devil kid again?"<br>"Of course," Merlin said bitterly, "he was the one who helped Morgana pull through the trunk stunt. He must have seen the Dragon fly off with the witch and decided to follow us."

It was a fierce boy that the wolf was dragging along. Once he figured out that magic was no help with her, he stooped to biting, kicking, scratching, twitching and pulling instead; it had as little effect on the Viking as the Lady Morgana's shower of sparks.

"What do you want done to him, oh omnipotent warlock. Spanking?"  
>Merlin grinned at the mere image of it.<br>"Oh, please," he said, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

As Thyra pulled down the boy's trousers and proceeded to warm the little rosy buttocks of the screaming and kicking kid, Arthur pulled Merlin aside.

"Has he lost his powers somehow?"  
>"Probably only around Thyra. He threw that stick because he knew that no brand of magic could wrench that sword out of your hand. No, the real issue here is – what do we do about him?"<br>"You're asking me?"  
>"yeah – you're the boss, after all."<br>"Eeerm … I don't know. Under no circumstances will I condemn a child to death. I am not my father."  
>"I know," Merlin assured him, "but he cannot be allowed to roam freely."<br>"On the other hand, Thyra cannot be expected to be chained to him forever."

During the two men's discussion of the problem at hand, the sound of Thyra's disciplinary actions was heard in the background. All of a sudden, however, the smacking sound ceased and she stood before them, still holding the bratty sorcerer while he was sulking and rubbing his tush.

"I have a suggestion," she said, "I can take him to uncle for some perspective."

Merlin blanched, wondering if even Mordred deserved that.

"Uncle? Like in the huge sea serpent that paid us a visit during the battle?" Arthur asked her, his gawking visage a vision.  
>"That'll be him," Thyra admitted, no sign of empathy in her lean, feral face.<br>"Um – how about your father instead?" Merlin suggested, somehow presupposing that a wolf would be more reasonable where children were concerned.  
>"Father would eat him alive," Thyra said dryly.<p>

Not an option then. In the end, they decided that the druids should take care of him, provided that they harness his powers. Thyra nodded curtly and turned to carry out the instructions.

This last threat gone, Arthur and Merlin turned to gaze at the deep waters of the lake. They would have to retrieve the sword somehow and where Arthur was concerned, that could only be done in one way; he started wading into the water, having shed his armour and chain-mail.

"Wait," Merlin halted him, "that's not necessary – there's boat here."  
>Arthur turned and saw the sorcerer pull out a boat the size of a nutshell.<br>"Merlin! We're going to get wet anyway when we dive for the sword!"  
>The warlock smiled softly at his friend.<br>"Diving is not part of the plan."

x

The sun had almost reached zenith as the prince and the sorcerer silently floated through the clear water in the small dinghy that left very few ripples in the silvery shining surface. The majestic mountains in the background shone with a particular zest and reflected their true nature in the water as a perfect reverse image. As the sky was royal blue, so was the lake – until they got to the place where the sword had sunk. Then Arthur looked down into the depth and saw a dark shadow that, to his utter surprise, grew increasingly larger.

"Lean back," Merlin said softly, putting a hand on the prince and pushing him back.  
>With a little splash, the water surface was broken and a slim female arm shot up, causing a cascade of twinkling drops to spray into the clear autumn air. Arthur hissed with shock and jerked back, almost making the nutshell boat capsize.<p>

"Take it," Merlin urged, steadying the boat with a calming spell, "take the sword!"

With trembling hands, Prince Arthur of Camelot reached out and took the wet sword from the calm, slim hands of the Lady of the Lake. "Thank you," he said hoarsely, peering into the dark water to catch a glimpse of her. Yet, he saw nothing but the shadow.

The arm remained in the air for a couple of moments during which Merlin reached out and took her hand in his, leading it to his lips and pressing a fervent kiss to the slim fingers.  
>"Thank you, my love," he whispered, "I owe you … everything."<p>

xxx

We're drawing to a close here. Thank you for sticking with me. :-)

Next chapter **might **be the last.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I just heard about episode 3 of the season 4. Though not having seen it, it appears that the show is becoming more and more like life.

Well … since all of you are so terribly depressed by that episode, I have decided to publish this chapter and the following epilogue sooner than I intended. It is set directly after season 3 and as such has nothing to do with season 4. It is my take on the development of the TV-show.

I hope it will brighten your day a bit. :-)

CHAPTER 9

King Arthur

The voyage home was relatively eventless. Merlin's chosen path was blessedly deserted, and merely once or twice did they come across a ruffian or a traveller that cast longing eyes on the shiny thing that stuck out of the Prince's saddlebags. In order not to tempt weak souls, Arthur had wrapped up the sword rather than sheathing it where the old sword was, yet Excalibur's inner light was so powerful that only a small hole in the fabric was enough to let its brilliancy shine through.

The pace was relatively fast, but mostly in trot and very little canter. Merlin predicted they might be in a tight spot at the gates of Camelot, convinced that the rumours would reach the castle and area before they did.

"We need a plan," he voiced as his horse easily jumped over a stream, following the Prince's steed.  
>"Which most likely will be useless once we arrive and we will have to think of a plan b anyway," Arthur argued.<br>"Yeah? Had I heeded Gaius' prophetic words about Excalibur, we might have found it easier to reach the sword."  
>"Oh, and now you want me to heed your prophetic words?"<p>

Merlin prompted his horse forward a little faster and caught up with his prince. He turned to him and nodded firmly. "Yes."

Arthur glared at his squire, then acquiesced, nodding with a certain amount of sarcasm. "All right, Merlin. What do you think the challenge will be and how do we meet it?"  
>"I think there will be a moderate crowd who have heard of your feat and Excalibur, but more importantly there will be undercover foes who will try their luck and wrench the sword from you. I propose that we go round the castle and enter through the same tunnel that we took Mordred through."<br>"That grating has been refastened long ago and done so thoroughly that not even two horses could haul it away."  
>"Horses? We don't need horses – we have me!"<p>

Arthur looked at him, kicking himself for being surprised yet again. Why did he keep forgetting about Merlin's magical abilities? Well, the answer was obvious – because he had known a clumsy, insolent, awkward manservant for the past five years, but the most powerful sorcerer for only for 40 days. Old habits and reflexes died hard. The other thing was … well, Merlin just had this innocent air of gullibility round him – even if he had always felt that there was something … shifty about him. Except when he stood before him in all his magical glory and guile and mastered the monsters of the universe. Then he was just about the most impressive creature the Prince had ever encountered. The realisation struck him as an important epiphany. Turning to his friend, his eyes had attained a whole new shine to them.

"Merlin," he said, his voice serious, "how would _**you **_go about introducing a lift on the magic ban?"

The warlock could hardly believe his ears. He felt his chest swell with anticipation and relief and an intense feeling of joy rushed through his very being. Oh … and Arthur was asking _**him **_for advice in the matter? Merlin got a grip – this was not to be plunged into headless and without structure.

"Ahem … I believe there would have to be a committee to look into the political and public opinion in the matter – discreetly, of course."

Arthur was impressed! Not that he hadn't expected something wise from his manservant; after all, Merlin had proven his insights on several occasions. However, wisdom in terms of social life and philosophy was one thing – politics quite another.

"And .. what would be the composition of this committee?"  
>Having given this a lot of thought already, Merlin replied quickly and without hesitating.<br>"There should be at least one sorcerer – Gaius would be the obvious choice – and an equal number of members against sorcery and for sorcery. This way, opponents cannot subsequently claim not to have been heard."

Prince Arthur nodded slowly, smirking. "And why Gaius?"

Merlin eyed him, "he has the right connections – he knows everybody on both sides on the fence, and he has the age and experience to make him wise. Also, he's not fanatically for or against."  
>"Then it should be Gaius, by all means … and who would be chairman?"<br>"Nobody. It would be like your Round Table – all equals."  
>For once Arthur didn't agree with his manservant. "It's slightly different, Merlin. The Knights of the Round Table are not a working committee. A committee without a chairman is just a group that never get anything done."<p>

That was probably true, and judging from Arthur's smirk, he was trying to make Merlin say the obvious thing; however, Merlin was adamant that he should not grant him the satisfaction.

"Then appointing the chairman would be your job, Sire," he evaded smoothly. Arthur grinned. _Clever._  
>"Well, I'm asking <strong>you <strong>– who would you appoint?"  
>Arthur was now shaking with mirth at the sight of the squirming squire. Merlin scowled at him and played his last trump.<br>"Gwen."  
>"What?" Arthur certainly didn't expect this.<br>"Yes. Gwen has amazing organisational skills and she's patient enough to listen to all sides – and she's fiercely loyal to you."

Now, it was Merlin's turn to enjoy the Prince squirming.

"Well … well … Gwen is going to be busy!"  
>"Oh, yeah? Doing what?" The sorcerer was now openly grinning. He had got the upper hand!<br>"**None ****of ****your ****business!**" Arthur fumed and rode ahead, angry dust rising in his wake. Yet, not even the booming sound of his horse's thundering hooves was able to dull the pearly laughter of his most irritating manservant.

x

Darkness had fallen upon Camelot and street torches had already been lit when Arthur and Merlin reached the gates of their home. Breathtaking, it looked with its illumination flickering and enhancing the strong powerful impression of the tall, erect walls and multiple slim towers from each and single one the Camelot banners were flowing in the frisky evening breeze. The sight made Arthur humble. This was his responsibility; his father incapacitated and the court assembly torn by insecurity and random internal struggles for power, it was up to him to bring stability and safety to the realm. He consciously patted the saddlebags and realised that the real quest was about to begin.

Sneaking round to the back of Camelot's dungeon area was a no brainer; the grating was in place again, just as Arthur had predicted, and very much secured with thick layers of mortar.  
>"Well, do your worst, then, Merlin – wait! What about the horses?" Arthur pointed out in a hushed voice.<p>

"Don't worry about them. I'll send them home."

Having learned by now that Merlin didn't boast about these things, Arthur merely watched as the sorcerer whispered softly into the ears of their two trusted steeds and didn't even blink in surprise when the horses turned and placidly trotted off to their respective stables.

"Tom might be slightly worried when he sees them return on their own, but we'll soon be there to ease his mind," Merlin elaborated and then turned his attention to the grating.

"Stand back," he warned, his eyes already turning golden.

**Ic ****ábíe tee ****pæt ****stánhol**

With an ear deafening crack, Merlin's powerful spell wrenched open the grating, tearing out bars, bricks and stones and making mortar fly in the process. As the dust settled, the two boys were coughing and their clothes unrecognisably covered in debris.

"Very subtle," Arthur croaked with searing sarcasm.  
>"They really had done a terrific job securing it," Merlin admitted through coughs.<br>"We must hurry," Arthur urged, "what are the odds that no one heard that."

Without further ado, the prince and the sorcerer made their way into the castle, a cloud of mortar dust following in their wake.

The crack had certainly been heard, but when the soldiers running up saw that the intruder was none other than their royal boss, they retracted and instead, secured the prince's further walk into the castle. They looked overly nervous, which immediately alerted the prince.

"What's happened in my absence, Captain?" he asked.  
>"We will take you to the King's chamber, my Lord," Captain Bersules said gruffly. Arthur strangled a hiss. His father!<p>

x

Prince Arthur of Camelot would never forget the sight that met him in his father's bedroom. The room was illuminated only by a few candlelights and whatever rainbow light the faint moon could deliver through the coloured glass of the windowpane.

On a bed that was clad in dark, mauve and cherry velvet blankets lay an old man, mouth open, eyes sunken, skin sallow and pale, a grid of obvious blue veins rippled on his hands and chest. His mouth, also sunken, worked very hard on breathing, colourless lips fluttering as the air passed them, in- and exhaling and producing a wheezing sound in the process. King Uther was dying and he was fighting for every heartbeat.

"No." It came out like a fragile whimper, alerting the present Gwen, who turned her head slowly and to her immense surprise, recognised the dying man's son. She gracefully rose and went to him, embracing him gently.  
>"I am so sorry," she whispered in his ear. "What happened?" was Arthur's broken voice.<br>"In his senility, he climbed the eastern tower – and jumped, believing he was engaging in battle."  
>"Why didn't anyone <em><strong>stop<strong>_him?" the prince demanded to know.  
>"He took one of the hidden hallways. Madge was fetching some water for him and when she returned, she found the bed empty."<p>

Arthur nodded, and then suddenly discovered that his cheeks were wet. Unbidden tears were trickling down his skin, unhindered. He sensed another person approaching and saw Gaius by Gwen's side. "His spine is broken," the old physician said, his face sad and drawn. Arthur nodded and got a grip. "How long has he got?"  
>Gaius shook his head; there was no saying for certain in these matters. "Guess!" Arthur demanded.<br>"A couple of hours at the most," Gaius ventured. A fleeting expression of panic marred the young royal face. "Can't you heal him?".  
>"Sire," the court physician said, appalled, "his spine is fractured several places."<br>"Right," Arthur said, getting more and more upset, "I wasn't talking of conventional means," his eyes conveying his intent.  
>"My Lord," Gaius said in an even more hushed tone, "my special … skills are not enough to put together a spine and its neural paths."<br>Resolutely, Arthur reached out an arm and dragged Merlin into the conversation with a firm hand on his nape. "Then your apprentice can do it!"  
>Merlin winced, Arthur's hand on his neck feeling a tad too possessive. "I was never good at healing," he admitted, "Gaius is far better."<p>

The expression in the Prince's eyes was devastating. Deep grief and confused sorrow dominated his facial features, but slowly he had to come to terms with realities, despite the pain.  
>"If you can't save people," he hissed at them, "then what good are you?" he lashed out at both of them. Neither of them took offence; the prince was in emotional shreds. Gaius put a gentle hand on his chain-mailed shoulder. "Sometimes, Sire, it is just one's time."<p>

Arthur went to his father's side and took his hand. The prince was dirty, tired, sweaty and the tears had ploughed their way through his mortar-covered cheeks, leaving trails for all to see; yet, he didn't care. He was about to become an orphan.

Gaius turned to Merlin and stepping out in the anteroom, clasped his young ward in his arms. "It is SO good to see you again," he said with emphasis.  
>"Are you all right, Gaius?" the warlock asked, concerned. The old man looked so haggard. Gaius nodded. "Just exhausted. We have watched the King round the clock for almost two days now."<br>"Then it must have happened shortly after we left."  
>"It did. But no one knew how to get in touch with you, and on account of our enemies, we had to keep it a secret as long as Arthur hadn't returned. I fear, though, that you could have done little difference had you been here earlier."<p>

Merlin turned to look at the image of father and son. "As long as Arthur has the opportunity to say goodbye to his father."

Gaius nodded and then eyed his assistant, seeing a difference in the mature eyes of the young sorcerer.

"And what has happened to you, Merlin?"

Merlin's smirked a little. "Oh, wow – you wouldn't believe it."

x

The King passed away shortly after midnight. He died with his son at his side, who had held his hand for hours, talking to him of all his adventures, his past childhood and the future to come. They say that hearing is the last sense to go, and if this be so, King Uther died in the knowledge that his son had loved him and that he was destined to bring greatness to England. And this is, Gaius decided, the best death any of us can hope for.  
>When Arthur noticed that his father's breath had become irregular, he called for Geoffrey of Monmouth, who was waiting outside, and Gaius moved closer to the bed. After the King's last breath, Gaius performed a thorough examination of the body and then straightened and addressed Geoffrey, declaring that the King had passed away. A document was signed and confirmed by the royal seal and the three of them exited the dead King's bedroom and chambers. Outside stood the most prominent members of the court assembly, waiting for the announcement and Geoffrey stepped forward, holding up the affidavit.<p>

"The King is dead," he said, loud and clear, "long live the King!"

And the assembly representatives knelt before their new king, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot.

xxx

Liked this better than the official episode?

Stand by for the Epilogue.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N … and a bit more to brighten your day – I hope. ;-)

This concludes Between a Stone and a Hard Sword.

EPILOGUE

The Coming of Merlin

The first frosty nights had already left their white morning trail in the fields and in the meadows when Camelot was preparing for the coronation. The castle was buzzing with life, thus making the cold stones warm and sizzling as one servant after the other scooted by in the hallways like busy little bees. Merlin was deftly avoiding an especially eager page who very nearly got caught in the sorcerer's jacket when he rushed past him.

"Oy," he yelled at the young boy, who was too busy to pay any heed of him, "look where you're going!", Merlin scoffed and turned to walk on … and collided with Gwaine ostentatiously!

"Ouch! … Gwaine, what are you doing here?"

The tavern-happy knight reached out a hand to steady the fragile-looking young boy. "Looking for you, actually."  
>"No, I don't have time to join you for a pint."<br>Gwaine laughed out loud, "not a bad idea – but it's actually the Princess, who needs you."  
>"You can't call him that any more – he's a King now."<br>"Not yet, formally," Gwaine reminded him, "however, by tomorrow, I'll just have to call him – 'Queen'."

And then the merry knight took off, laughing his head off as he went into the streets, waving at Merlin.

The young warlock opened the door to Arthur's chambers. The Once and Future King had not yet moved into his father's, the King's, chambers, and Merlin suspected it would be long before he could actually make himself do that.

"You wanted me?"  
>"Don't you ever knock?" Arthur Pendragon was sitting behind his desk, writing a document with a quill.<br>Merlin grinned; all was as it should be. "No," he said truthfully.  
>"And he's proud of it," Arthur grumbled, waving an indicating hand, "come here!"<p>

Merlin approached his friend and King. He hadn't seen that much of his master these past few busy days. Arthur let the waving hand point at the chair in front of his desk. "Sit!"

His manservant sat obediently, slightly puzzled.  
>Then Prince Arthur leaned forward, clasped his hands, and said:<br>"Merlin, you're fired."  
>Silence. The only movement coming from Merlin was a blink of an eye. Then he swallowed with a dry throat.<br>"I … why?"  
>Arthur grinned evilly, "because, Merlin – as a King I'd want the luxury of a really <em><strong>good <strong>_manservant. And you will be too busy with other duties."

Merlin paled. Oh, god – he was about to demote him to stable boy.

Then, to the now former manservant's huge surprise, the King rose, signalled for Merlin to rise too, took out the document he had been writing and started reading aloud.

"I, King Arthur of the Pendragon House of Camelot, son of Uther Pendragon, being of sound mind and body, hereby appoint Merlin Emrys, son of Balinor and Hunith, as my Court Councillor of Magical Matters. The said person is required to … Merlin, are you all right?"

Arthur abandoned the document and hurried to his friend's side as the young man's face had gone completely pallid while he was swaying perilously on his lanky legs, looking very much like he was about to faint right there and then. A barely audible groan escaped his lips as he was eased back into the chair by Arthur's firm hand.

"Easy, there," Arthur murmured, "what the heck happened to you?"

Merlin was hyperventilating, but slowly his colour and regular breath returned to him. Tears were dangerously close to falling, but an inhuman effort by the sorcerer kept them at bay. His fainting spell was bad enough, but tears would be the last straw in this emotional humiliation. Arthur peered into his eyes, noticing the threatening tears, but being polite enough not to mention them.

"I don't know," Merlin finally huffed, "I think, perhaps … after all these years of hiding, expecting any minute to be executed ..."

Arthur nodded. "I see. Good thing I read this to you in private, then. Wouldn't have you faint like a girl in public, would we, Merlin?"

The banter helped instantly; a healthy red angry hue spread to the sorcerer's face in under a second. "I'll be fine," he said curtly, eyes flaring.  
>Arthur grinned and handed him a glass of water. "That's better."<p>

"When did you decide this?" Merlin asked as he sipped the water. "Several days ago," Arthur answered, "we've been having long and arduous negotiations in the court assembly, but I used your argumentation, and it ended in a majority for the programme – including the issue on magic. So..," he continued, "..once the coronation is over and done with, we will make substantial changes and the basic rules and laws for the reform will be established."

They both fell silent. History was being made this very instant. Tomorrow the real problems might begin, but for now they just wanted to bask in the joy of having taken the first step to a golden age.

x

Looking out of the window of the western tower, one would see an impressive display of people in the court yard and streets of Camelot. As long as the eye could see, hordes of eager participants to the coming feast as well as curious parties were crowding every last speck of space they could find. Half of these people were there to catch a glimpse of Excalibur and the other half a glance of the new king.

Merlin had, for once, donned something which was not either red or blue; he looked down his attire. Green, mauve and golden. Not bad. He would be present at the coronation, the presentation of Excalibur and the following feast as a private person, having been sacked as manservant and not yet installed as councillor. A heavy hand landed on his skinny shoulder and he turned to give his indispensable mentor a fast and loving embrace.

"We made it," Gaius whispered into his ear, "we made it, my boy, and we're alive, and the magic ban is about to be lifted."  
>Merlin's eyes were brimming over again; he would have to watch his emotions once he had entered his official position.<br>"I know," he whispered back, "we couldn't have done it without you, Gaius. Or Freya, or Gwen, or Gwaine and Lancelot or anyone else who has helped us along the way."

The old physician let him go, "we all had a role to play," he admitted, "but you, Merlin. You are the one who has suffered the most, fought the most and vanquished it all. Without you, our efforts had meant squat."

Merlin didn't argue the point. They could stand there, praising each other till the end of time and it wouldn't really mean much. Fate had her own way of getting her way, regardless of personal wishes and desires, and as frustrating that had been from time to time, this moment had been worth it all.

Removing the last dust bunny from his protégé's festive garment, Gaius straightened Merlin's jacket and turned him round, pointing at the door. "I don't want to see you come through that door until you have had the time of your life," he stated and gave him a little push. Merlin grinned and started walking … and then stopped when he reached the door and turned.

"You know," he said, his face yet again serious, "this is just the beginning. There are plenty of magic opponents out there and they might very well try to use other than peaceful means to eradicate what they believe to be evil and dangerous."

Gaius nodded. "We all still need to be careful. Especially you, Merlin, as you will now be out in the open through your new position. But I have every confidence in your parliamentary skills. And so does Arthur – or else he wouldn't have appointed you."

Merlin's face was split by an ear-to-ear smile again, his face beaming away and lightening up the entire room.

"That's _**King **_Arthur to you!"

THE END

That's it! Thanks for sticking with me. Tell me how you liked this, if at all, and let me hear good and bad.

Meanwhile I'm close to hatching another, completely different story. Something about a detail in the Arthurian legend that went horribly wrong so that England never was united. How would that affect today's England? And how can Merlin set it right?


End file.
